If Our Life Lacks A Constant Magic

You Are Quite Unnecessary, Young Man!

If Our Life Lacks A Constant Magic It Is Because We Choose To Observe Our Acts And Lose Ourselves In Consideration Of Their Imagined Form And Meaning, Instead Of Being Impelled By Their Force.

Tragedy On The Stage Is No Longer Enough For Me, I Shall Bring It Into My Own Life.

Not Once More Will/i Be Found With Beings/who Swallowed The Rail Of Life//and One Day I Found Myself With Beings/who Swallowed The Nail Of Life/-as Soon As I Lost My Matrix Mamma,//and The Being Twisted Under Him,/and God Poured Me Back To Her/(the Motherfucker).

The Race Of Prophets Is Extinct. Europe Is Becoming Set In Its Ways, Slowly Embalming Itself Beneath The Wrappings Of Its Borders, Its Factories, Its Law-courts And Its Universities. The Frozen Mind Cracks Between The Mineral Staves Which Close Upon It.