I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The

What Am I Doing Here?

I Don't Love Women. Love Has To Be Reinvented, We Know That. The Only Thing Women Can Ultimately Imagine Is Security. Once They Get That, Love, Beauty, Everything Else Goes Out The Window. All They Have Left Is Cold Disdain; That's What Marriages Live On Nowadays. Sometimes I See Women Who Ought To Be Happy, With Whom I Could Have Found Companionship, Already Swallowed Up By Brutes With As Much Feeling As An Old Log.

He Would Say, "how Funny It Will All Seem, All You've Gone Through, When I'm Not Here Anymore, When You No Longer Feel My Arms Around Your Shoulders, Nor My Heart Beneath You, Nor This Mouth On Your Eyes, Because I Will Have To Go Away Some Day, Far Away..." And In That Instant I Could Feel Myself With Him Gone, Dizzy With Fear, Sinking Down Into The Most Horrible Blackness: Into Death.

I Dreamed Of Crusades, Voyages Of Discovery That Nobody Had Heard Of, Republics Without Histories, Religious Wars Stamped Out, Revolutions In Morals, Movements Of Races And Continents; I Used To Believe In Every Kind Of Magic. I Began It As An Investigation. I Turned Silences And Nights Into Words. What Was Unutterable, I Wrote Down. I Made The Whirling World Stand Still.

Once, If I Remember Well, My Life Was A Feast Where All Hearts Opened And All Wines Flowed.