The Last Moments Slipped By, One By

It Is No Longer Possible For Lyric Poetry To Express The Immensity Of Our Experience. Life Has Grown Too Cumbersome, Too Complicated. We Have Acquired Values Which Are Best Expressed In Prose.

Departure Beyond The Borders Of My Country Is For Me Equivalent To Death.

The Writer Is The Faust Of Modern Society, The Only Surviving Individualist In A Mass Age. To His Orthodox Contemporaries He Seems A Semi-madman.

You Fall Into My Arms. You Are The Good Gift Of Destruction's Path, When Life Sickens More Than Disease And Boldness Is The Root Of Beauty - Which Draws Us Together.

The Great Majority Of Us Are Required To Live A Constant, Systematic Duplicity. Your Health Is Bound To Be Affected By It If, Day After Day, You Say The Opposite Of What You Feel, You Grovel Before What You Dislike And Rejoice At What Bring Brings You Nothing But Misfortune. Our Nervous System Isn’t Just A Fiction, It’s Part Of Our Physical Body, And Our Soul Exists In Space And Is Inside Us, Like Teeth In Our Mouth. It Can’t Be Forever Violated With Impunity.