We Know That The Nature

O Reason, Reason, Abstract Phantom Of The Waking State, I Had Already Expelled You From My Dreams, Now I Have Reached A Point Where Those Dreams Are About To Become Fused With Apparent Realities: Now There Is Only Room Here For Myself.

That You Are Not Already Golden Word In Our Streets Already Memories Your Love Fades Already Whether You Are No Longer To Have Perished.

I Demand That My Books Be Judged With Utmost Severity, By Knowledgeable People Who Know The Rules Of Grammar And Of Logic, And Who Will Seek Beneath The Footsteps Of My Commas The Lice Of My Thought In The Head Of My Style.

The Authors Of Book Reviews Would Consider Themselves Dishonored Were They To Mention, As They Should, The Subject Of The Book.

Photography Intervenes In A Very Strange Way. It Makes The Streets, Gates, Squares Of The City Into Illustrations Of A Trashy Novel, Draws Off The Banal Obviousness Of This Ancient Architecture To Inject It With The Most Pristine Intensity.