There Are Strange Flowers Of

I Shall Always Rebel Against Any Attempt To Reduce A Human Being To A Kind Of Mannequin, Whose Deeds And Questions Would Be Comprehensible Like The Deeds And Gestures Of Monarchs Recorded Day After Day In Official Communiques. Six Months Of A Life Cannot Catalogue The Vitality, The Activity Of An Individual; Only Death Stops Development And Then, What Is Important Is The Overall Meaning Of A Life, Not The Details Of That Life, Edifying To Some, Scandalous To Others.

There Are Strange Flowers Of Reason To Match Each Error Of The Senses.

Reality Is The Apparent Absence Of Contradiction. The Marvelous Is The Eruption Of Contradiction Within The Real.

There Are Strange Flowers Of Reason To Match Each Error Of The Senses. Admirable Gardens Of Absurd Beliefs, Forebodings, Obsessions And Frenzies. Unknown, Ever-changing Gods Take Shape There.

Your Heart Like A Hawk-mouth In The Sun, Your Heart Like A Ship On An Atoll, Your Heart Like A Compass Needle Driven Mad By A Little Piece Of Lead, Like Washing Drying In The Wind, Like A Whining Of Horses, Like Seed Thrown To The Birds, Like An Evening Paper One Has Finished Reading! Your Heart Is A Charade That The Whole World Has Guessed.