In Our Present State Of

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

I Am A Man By Virtue Of My Hands And My Feet, My Belly, My Heart Of Meat, My Stomach Whose Knots Reunite Me To The Putrefaction Of Life.

Enough, I Shall Be Understood In Ten Years By People Who Will Be Doing What You Do Today. Then My Geysers Will Be Known, My Ice Floes Will Be Seen, The Secret Of Adulterating My Poisons Will Have Been Learned, The Games Of My Soul Will Be Revealed.

I Am Stigmatized By A Living Death In Which Real Death Holds No Terrors For Me.

If I Commit Suicide, It Will Not Be To Destroy Myself But To Put Myself Back Together Again.