Without Sarcasm I Sink Into Chaos.

For The Lost Are Lost By Nature, All Your Ideas Of Moral Regeneration Will Make No Difference, There Is An Innate Determinism, There Is An Undeniable Incurability In Suicide, Crime, Idiocy, Madness, There Is An Invincible Cuckoldry In Man, There Is A Congenital Weakness Of The Character, A Castration Of The Mind.

I Do Not Like Detached Creation. Neither Can I Conceive Of The Mind As Detached From Itself. Each Of My Works, Each Diagram Of Myself, Each Glacial Flowering Of My Inmost Soul Dribbles Over Me.

I Am A Man By Virtue Of My Hands And My Feet, My Belly, My Heart Of Meat, My Stomach Whose Knots Reunite Me To The Putrefaction Of Life.

Cruelty In The Theatre Is Unrelenting Decisiveness, Diligence, Strictness.

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