I Prefer The People Who Eat Off

I Do Not Work Within The Confines Of Any Realm. I Work In The Unique Moment Of Duration.

With Society And Its Public, There Is No Longer Any Other Language Than That Of Bombs, Barricades, And All That Follows.

I Would Like To Write A Book Which Would Drive Men Mad, Which Would Be Like An Open Door Leading Them Where They Would Never Have Consented To Go, In Short, A Door That Opens Onto Reality.

All Writing Is Garbage. People Who Come Out Of Nowhere To Try And Put Into Words Any Part Of What Goes On In Their Minds Are Pigs.

I Prefer The People Who Eat Off The Bare Earth The Delirium From Which They Were Born.