Poetic Knowledge Is Born In The Great

Reason, I Sacrifice You To The Evening Breeze.

And Let Me Die Suddenly, To Be Born Again In The Revelation Of Beauty....and The Revelation Of Beauty Is The Wisdom Of The Ancestors.

Poetic Knowledge Is Born In The Great Silence Of Scientific Knowledge.

Culture Is Everything. Culture Is The Way We Dress, The Way We Carry Our Heads, The Way We Walk, The Way We Tie Our Ties - It Is Not Only The Fact Of Writing Books Or Building Houses.

I Would Rediscover The Secret Of Great Communications And Great Combustions. I Would Say Storm. I Would Say River. I Would Say Tornado. I Would Say Leaf. I Would Say Tree. I Would Be Drenched By All Rains, Moistened By All Dews. I Would Roll Like Frenetic Blood On The Slow Current Of The Eye Of Words Turned Into Mad Horses Into Fresh Children Into Clots Into Curfew Into Vestiges Of Temples Into Precious Stones Remote Enough To Discourage Miners. Whoever Would Not Understand Me Would Not Understand Any Better The Roaring Of A Tiger.