The Reflected World Is The Conquest Of

I Am A Dreamer Of Words, Of Written Words. I Think I Am Reading; A Word Stops Me. I Leave The Page. The Syllables Of The Word Begin To Move Around. Stressed Accents Begin To Invert. The Word Abandons Its Meaning Like An Overload Which Is Too Heavy And Prevents Dreaming. Then Words Take On Other Meanings As If They Had The Right To Be Young. And The Words Wander Away, Looking In The Nooks And Crannies Of Vocabulary For New Company, Bad Company.

We Believe We Can Also Show That Words Do Not Have Exactly The Same Psychic "weight" Depending On Whether They Belong To The Language Of Reverie Or To The Language Of Daylight Life-to Rested Language Or Language Under Surveillance-to The Language Of Natural Poetry Or To The Language Hammered Out By Authoritarian Prosodies.

When We Are Children, People Show Us So Many Things That We Lose The Profound Sense Of Seeing... And Just How Could Adults Show Us The World They Have Lost! They Know; They Think They Know; They Say They Know.

The Poetic Image Exists Apart From Causality.

It Is Quite Evident That A Barrier Must Be Cleared In Order To Escape The Psychologists And Enter Into A Realm Which Is Not "auto-observant", Where We Ourselves No Longer Divide Ourselves Into Observer And Observed. Then The Dreamer Is Completely Dissolved In His Reverie. His Reverie Is His Silent Life. It Is That Silent Peace Which The Poet Wants To Convey To Us.