Music Is The Refuge Of Souls Ulcerated

Utopia Is The Grotesque En Rose, The Need To Associate Happiness - That Is, The Improbable - With Becoming, And To Coerce An Optimistic, Aerial Vision To The Point Where It Rejoins Its Own Source: The Very Cynicism It Sought To Combat. In Short, A Monstrous Fantasy.

Life Is Merely A Fracas On An Unmapped Terrain, And The Universe A Geometry Stricken With Epilepsy.

One Is And Remains A Slave As Long As One Is Not Cured Of Hoping.

Boredom Dismantles The Mind, Renders It Superficial, Out At The Seams, Saps It From Within And Dislocates It.

If Each Of Us Were To Confess His Most Secret Desire, The One That Inspires All His Plans, All His Actions, He Would Say: "i Want To Be Praised."