Our Love Lives Because I Live.

The Child In Me Could Not Die As It Should Have Died, Because According Too Legends It Must Find Its Father Again. The Old Legends Knew, Perhaps, That In Absence The Father Becomes Glorified, Deified, Eroticized, And This Outrage Against God The Father Has To Be Atoned For. The Human Father Has To Be Confronted And Recognized As Human, As Man Who Created A Child And Then, By His Absence, Left The Child Fatherless And Then Godless.

All Those Who Try To Unveil The Mysteries Always Have Tragic Lives. At The End They Are Always Punished.

I Gathered Poets Around Me And We All Wrote Beautiful Erotica. As We Were Condemned To Focus Only On Sensuality, We Had Violent Explosions Of Poetry. Writing Erotica Became A Road To Sainthood Rather Than To Debauchery.

When I Don't Write, I Feel My World Shrink. I Lose My Fire, My Color.

I See Myself Wrapped In Lies, Which Do Not Seem To Penetrate My Soul, As If They Are Not Really A Part Of Me. They Are Like Costumes.