Only By Living Absurdly Is It Possible

Of All Our Feelings The Only One Which Really Doesn't Belong To Us Is Hope. Hope Belongs To Life, It's Life Itself Defending Itself. Etcetera.

Only In Dreams, In Poetry, In Play Do We Sometimes Arrive At What We Were Before We Were This Thing That, Who Knows, We Are.

You're Like A Witness. You're The One Who Goes To The Museum And Looks At The Paintings. I Mean The Paintings Are There And You're In The Museum Too, Near And Far Away At The Same Time. I'm A Painting. Rocamadour Is A Painting. Etienne Is A Painting, This Room Is A Painting. You Think That You're In The Room But You're Not. You're Looking At The Room, You're Not In The Room.

Where Are The Beginnings, The Endings, And Most Important, The Middles?

Only By Living Absurdly Is It Possible To Break Out Of This Infinite Absurdity.