God Is Dead. Marx Is Dead. And

There Is Nothing Truer Than Myth: History, In Its Attempt To Realize Myth, Distorts It, Stops Halfway; When History Claims To Have Succeeded, This Is Nothing But Humbug And Mystification. Everything We Dream Is Realizable. Reality Does Not Have To Be: It Is Simply What It Is.

I've Always Been Suspicious Of Collective Truths. I Think An Idea Is True When It Hasn't Been Put Into Words And That The Moment It's Put Into Words It Becomes Exaggerated. Because The Moment It's Put Into Words There's An Abuse, An Excess In The Expression Of The Idea That Makes It False.

The Human Comedy Does Not Attract Me Enough. I Am Not Entirely Of This World. I Am From Elsewhere, And It Is Worth Finding This Elsewhere Beyond The Walls...but Where Is It?

All Cats Die. Socrates Is Dead. Therefore Socrates Is A Cat.

Explanation Separates Us From Astonishment, Which Is The Only Gateway To The Incomprehensible.