The Power Of Death Signifies That This

We Want To Decipher Skies And Paintings, Go Behind These Starry Backgrounds Or These Painted Canvases And, Like Kids Trying To Find A Gap In A Fence, Try To Look Through The Cracks In The World.

The Anguish Of The Neurotic Individual Is The Same As That Of The Saint. The Neurotic, The Saint Are Engaged In The Same Battle. Their Blood Flows From Similar Wounds. But The First One Gasps And The Other One Gives.

Naturally, Love's The Most Distant Possibility.

Incredible Nervous State, Trepidation Beyond Words: To Be This Much In Love Is To Be Sick (and I Love To Be Sick).

By Inner Experience I Understand That Which One Usually Calls Mystical Experience: The States Of Ecstasy, Of Rapture, At Least Of Meditated Emotion. But I Am Thinking Less Of Confessional Experience, To Which One Has Had To Adhere Up To Now, That Of An Experience Laid Bare, Free Of Ties, Even Of An Origin, Of Any Confession Whatever. This Is Why I Don't Like The Word Mystical.