Once, If I Remember Well,

Faith Assuages, Guides, Restores.

I'm Now Making Myself As Scummy As I Can. Why? I Want To Be A Poet, And I'm Working At Turning Myself Into A Seer. You Won't Understand Any Of This, And I'm Almost Incapable Of Explaining It To You. The Idea Is To Reach The Unknown By The Derangement Of All The Senses. It Involves Enormous Suffering, But One Must Be Strong And Be A Born Poet. It's Really Not My Fault.

The Poet Makes Himself A Seer Through A Long, Vast And Painstaking Derangement Of All The Senses

My Wisdom Is As Spurned As Chaos. What Is My Nothingness, Compared To The Amazement That Awaits You?

What An Old Maid I'm Getting To Be. Lacking The Courage To Be In Love With Death!