Without Sarcasm I Sink Into Chaos.

I Myself Spent Nine Years In An Insane Asylum And I Never Had The Obsession Of Suicide, But I Know That Each Conversation With A Psychiatrist, Every Morning At The Time Of His Visit, Made Me Want To Hang Myself, Realizing That I Would Not Be Able To Cut His Throat.

A Real Theatrical Experience Shakes The Calm Of The Senses, Liberates The Compressed Unconscious And Drives Towards A Kind Of Potential Revolt . . .

For The Lost Are Lost By Nature, All Your Ideas Of Moral Regeneration Will Make No Difference, There Is An Innate Determinism, There Is An Undeniable Incurability In Suicide, Crime, Idiocy, Madness, There Is An Invincible Cuckoldry In Man, There Is A Congenital Weakness Of The Character, A Castration Of The Mind.

But How Is One To Make A Scientist Understand That There Is Something Unalterably Deranged About Differential Calculus, Quantum Theory, Or The Obscene And So Inanely Liturgical Ordeals Of The Precession Of The Equinoxes.

Like All Magic Cultures Expressed By Appropriate Hieroglyphs, The True Theater Has Its Shadows Too, And, Of All Languages And All Arts, The Theater Is The Only One Left Whose Shadows Have Shattered Their Limitations.