Je Est Un Autre. (i Is Someone

A Man Who Wants To Mutilate Himself Is Certainly Damned, Isn't He?

I Shed More Tears Than God Could Ever Have Required.

I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The Unnameable.

And From Then On, I Bathed In The Poem Of The Sea, Star-infused, And Opalescent, Devouring Green Azures

For A Long Time I Found The Celebrities Of Modern Painting And Poetry Ridiculous. I Loved Absurd Pictures, Fanlights, Stage Scenery, Mountebanks Backcloths, Inn-signs, Cheap Colored Prints; Unfashionable Literature, Church Latin, Pornographic Books Badly Spelt, Grandmothers Novels, Fairy Stories, Little Books For Children, Old Operas, Empty Refrains, Simple Rhythms.