It Is Barbaric To Write Poetry After

Philosophy That Satisfies Its Own Intention, And Does Not Childishly Skip Behind Its Own History And The Real One, Has Its Lifeblood In The Resistance Against The Common Practices Of Today And What They Serve, Against The Justification Of What Happens To Be The Case.

It Is Not The Office Of Art To Spotlight Alternatives, But To Resist By Its Form Alone The Course Of The World, Which Permanently Puts A Pistol To Men's Heads.

Technology Is Making Gestures Precise And Brutal, And With Them Men.

Not Only Is The Self Entwined In Society; It Owes Society Its Existence In The Most Literal Sense.

The Work Of Art Still Has Something In Common With Enchantment: It Posits Its Own, Self-enclosed Area, Which Is Withdrawn From The Context Of Profane Existence, And In Which Special Laws Apply.