Without Sarcasm I Sink Into Chaos.

Hell Is Of This World And There Are Men Who Are Unhappy Escapees From Hell, Escapees Destined Eternally To Reenact Their Escape.

But How Is One To Make A Scientist Understand That There Is Something Unalterably Deranged About Differential Calculus, Quantum Theory, Or The Obscene And So Inanely Liturgical Ordeals Of The Precession Of The Equinoxes.

Poetry Is A Dissociating And Anarchic Force Which Through Analogy, Associations And Imagery, Thrives On The Destruction Of Known Relationships.

In Our Present State Of Degeneration It Is Through The Skin That Metaphysics Must Be Made To Re-enter Our Minds.

I Myself Spent Nine Years In An Insane Asylum And I Never Had The Obsession Of Suicide, But I Know That Each Conversation With A Psychiatrist, Every Morning At The Time Of His Visit, Made Me Want To Hang Myself, Realizing That I Would Not Be Able To Cut His Throat.