If You Are Not Already Dead, Forgive.

I Am Alone In This White, Garden-rimmed Street. Alone And Free. But This Freedom Is Rather Like Death.

This Is The Basis For The Joy Of Love When There Is Joy; We Feel That Our Existence Is Justified.

As For Me, I Am Mean: That Means That I Need The Suffering Of Others To Exist. A Flame. A Flame In Their Hearts. When I Am All Alone, I Am Extinguished.

The More Absurd Life Is, The More Insupportable Death Is.

A Pale Reflection Of Myself Wavers In My Consciousness...and Suddenly The “i” Pales, Pales, And Fades Out.