When I Do Things Without Any Explanation,

Objects And Their Functions No Longer Had Any Significance. All I Perceived Was Perception Itself, The Hell Of Forms And Figures Devoid Of Human Emotion And Detached From The Reality Of My Unreal Environment. I Was An Instrument In A Virtual World That Constantly Renewed Its Own Meaningless Image In A Living World That Was Itself Perceived Outside Of Nature. And Since The Appearance Of Things Was No Longer Definitive But Limitless, This Paradisiacal Awareness Freed Me From The Reality External To Myself. The Fire And The Rose, As It Were, Became One.

I Claim The Right To Contradict Myself. I Don't Want To Deprive Myself Of The Right To Talk Nonsense, And I Ask Humbly To Be Allowed To Be Wrong Sometimes.

If I'm A Cruel Satirist At Least I'm Not A Hyprocrite: I Never Judge What Other People Do. Neither A Politician Nor A Priest, I Never Censor What Others Do. Neither A Philospher Nor A Psychiatrist, I Never Bother Trying To Analyze Or Resolve My Fears And Neuroses.

Don't Tell Me What I'm Doing; I Don't Want To Know.

I Think Television Has Betrayed The Meaning Of Democratic Speech, Adding Visual Chaos To The Confusion Of Voices. What Role Does Silence Have In All This Noise?