I Write To Save Someone's Life, Probably

All The World Began With A Yes. One Molecule Said Yes To Another Molecule And Life Was Born. But Before Prehistory There Was The Prehistory Of The Prehistory And There Was The Never And There Was The Yes. It Was Ever So. I Don’t Know Why, But I Do Know That The Universe Never Began. Make No Mistake, I Only Achieve Simplicity With Enormous Effort.

I Have Grown Weary Of Literature: Silence Alone Comforts Me. If I Continue To Write, It’s Because I Have Nothing More To Accomplish In This World Except To Wait For Death. Searching For The Word In Darkness. Any Little Success Invades Me And Puts Me In Full View Of Everyone. I Long To Wallow In The Mud. I Can Scarcely Control My Need For Self-abasement, My Craving For Licentiousness And Debauchery. Sin Tempts Me, Forbidden Pleasures Lure Me. I Want To Be Both Pig And Hen, Then Kill Them And Drink Their Blood.

But Don't Forget, In The Meantime, That This Is The Season For Strawberries. Yes.

Ignorance Of The Law Of Irreducibility Was No Excuse. I Could No Longer Excuse Myself With The Claim That I Didn't Know The Law -- For Knowledge Of Self And Of The World Is The Law That, Even Though Unattainable, Cannot Be Broken, And No One Can Excuse Himself By Saying That He Doesn't Know It. . . . The Renewed Originality Of The Sin Is This: I Have To Carry Out My Unknowing, I Shall Be Sinning Originally Against Life.

Reality Prior To My Language Exists As An Unthinkable Thought. . . . Life Precedes Love, Bodily Matter Precedes The Body, And One Day In Its Turn Language Shall Have Preceded Possession Of Silence.