The Human Soul Is An Abyss

Faithful To The Word Given And The Idea Had.

We Almost Always Live Outside Ourselves, And Life Itself Is A Continual Dispersion. But It's Towards Ourselves That We Tend, As Towards A Centre Around Which, Like Planets, We Trace Absurd And Distant Ellipses.

Myth Is The Nothing That Is All.

The End Is Low, Like All Quantitative Ends, Personal Or Not, And It Can Be Attained And Verified.

Again I See You, But Me I Don't See!, The Magical Mirror In Which I Saw Myself Has Been Broken, And Only A Piece Of Me I See In Each Fatal Fragment - Only A Piece Of You And Me!