Whatever Is Not Stone Is Light

I Sat At The Foot Of A Huge Tree, A Statue Of The Night, And Tried To Make An Inventory Of All I Had Seen, Heard, Smelled, And Felt: Dizziness, Horror, Stupor, Astonishment, Joy, Enthusiasm, Nausea, Inescapable Attraction. What Had Attracted Me? It Was Difficult To Say: Human Kind Cannot Bear Much Reality.

With Great Difficulty Advancing By Millimeters Each Year, I Carve A Road Out Of The Rock. For Millenniums My Teeth Have Wasted And My Nails Broken To Get There, To The Other Side, To The Light And The Open Air. And Now That My Hands Bleed And My Teeth Tremble, Unsure In A Cavity Cracked By Thirst And Dust, I Pause And Contemplate My Work. I Have Spent The Second Part Of My Life Breaking The Stones, Drilling The Walls, Smashing The Doors, Removing The Obstacles I Placed Between The Light And Myself In The First Part Of My Life.

The Mexican...is Familiar With Death. [he] Jokes About It, Caresses It, Sleeps With It, Celebrates It. It Is One Of His Favorite Toys And His Most Steadfast Love.

Because Two Bodies, Naked And Entwined, Leap Over Time, They Are Invulnerable, Nothing Can Touch Them, They Return To The Source. There Is No You, No I, No Tomorrow, No Yesterday, No Names, The Truth Of Two In A Single Body, A Single Soul, Oh Total Being.

Surrealism Is Not A School Of Poetry But A Movement Of Liberation... A Way Of Rediscovering The Language Of Innocence, A Renewal Of The Primordial Pact, Poetry Is The Basic Text, The Foundation Of The Human Order. Surrealism Is Revolutionary Because It Is A Return To The Beginning Of All Beginnings.