What Is History After All? History Is

A Little Too Much Is Just Enough For Me.

When We Awake It Is The Animal, The Plant, That Thinks In Us. Primitive Thought Without The Least Disguise. We See A Terrible Universe, Because We See Clearly. A Little Later, Intelligence Introduces Its Impeding Contrivances. It Brings The Little Toys Which Man Invents In Order To Hide The Void. It Is Then That We Think We Are Seeing Clearly. We Attribute Our Uneasiness To The Miasmas Of The Brain As It Passes From Dream To Reality.

I'm Not Willing Just To Be Tolerated. That Wounds My Love Of Love And Of Liberty.

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.

One Sits Down First; One Thinks Afterwards.