O Witches, O Misery, O Hate, To

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.

True Alchemy Lies In This Formula: ‘your Memory And Your Senses Are But The Nourishment Of Your Creative Impulse’.

I'm Now Making Myself As Scummy As I Can. Why? I Want To Be A Poet, And I'm Working At Turning Myself Into A Seer. You Won't Understand Any Of This, And I'm Almost Incapable Of Explaining It To You. The Idea Is To Reach The Unknown By The Derangement Of All The Senses. It Involves Enormous Suffering, But One Must Be Strong And Be A Born Poet. It's Really Not My Fault.

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

I Turned Silences And Nights Into Words. What Was Unutterable, I Wrote Down. I Made The Whirling World Stand Still.