Everyone Loathes His Own Country

Music Is Only Love Looking For Words.

Poetry Is What Happens When An Anxiety Meets A Technique.

After All The Work Of The Philosophers On His Soul And The Doctors On His Body, What Can We Really Say We Know About A Man? That He Is, When All Is Said And Done, Just A Passage For Liquids And Solids, A Pipe Of Flesh.

Truth Is A Matter Of Direct Apprehension-you Can't Climb A Ladder Of Mental Concepts To It.

No History Much? Perhaps. Only This Ominous Dark Beauty Flowering Under Veils, Trapped In The Spectrum Of A Dying Style: A Village Like An Instinct Left To Rust, Composed Around The Echo Of A Pistol-shot.