Let Us Sculpt In Hopeless Silence All

To Think Is To Destroy. The Very Process Of Thought Indicates It For The Same Thought, As Thinking Is Decomposing.

Silence Emerges From The Sound Of Rain And Spreads In A Crescendo Of Gray Monotony Over The Narrow Street I Contemplate. I’m Sleeping While Awake, Standing By The Window, Leaning Against It As Against Everything. I Search In Myself For The Sensations I Feel Before These Falling Threads Of Darkly Luminous Water That Stand Out From The Grimy Building Facades And Especially From The Open Windows. And I Don’t Know What I Feel Or What I Want To Feel. I Don’t Know What To Think Or Where I Am.

There Are Those That Even God Exploits, And They Are Prophets And Saints In The Vacuousness Of The World.

The Beauty Of A Naked Body Is Felt Only By The Dressed Races.

God Wills, Man Dreams, The Work Is Born.