There Was A Time When Time Did

What To Think Of Other People? I Ask Myself This Question Each Time I Make A New Acquaintance. So Strange Does It Seem To Me That We Exist, And That We Consent To Exist.

I Am The Beast With A Contorted Grin, Contracting Down To Illusion And Dilating Toward Infinity, Both Growing And Dying, Delightfully Suspended Between Hope For Nothing And Despair Of Everything, Brought Up Among Perfumes And Poisons, Consumed With Love And Hatred, Killed By Lights And Shadows. My Symbol Is Death Of Light And The Flame Of Death. Sparks Die In Me Only To Be Reborn As Thunder And Lightning. Darkness Itself Glows In Me.

What Can Be Said, Lacks Reality. Only What Fails To Make Its Way Into Words Exists And Counts.

Fear Can Supplant Our Real Problems Only To The Extent -unwilling Either To Assimilate Or To Exhaust It -we Perpetuate It Within Ourselves Like A Temptation And Enthrone It At The Very Heart Of Our Solitude.

We Derive Our Vitality From Our Store Of Madness.