Against The Background Of General Freakishness The

Beauty Beheld In Solitude Is Even More Lethal.

There Were Three Of Us; Witkiewicz, Bruno Schulz, And Myself--the Three Muskateers Of The Polish Avant-garde Between The Wars. Only Witkiewicz Remains To Be Discovered.

Our Element Is Unending Immaturity.

If He [the Artist] Were To Take Up The Pen It Would Be...to Better Express His Individuality And Explain It To Others; Or Else To Put His Internal Affairs In Order...to Deepen And Sharpen His Relationship With His Fellow Men Because Other Souls Exert An Immense And Creative Influence On Our Soul; Or To Try To Fight For A World As He Would Like It To Be, For A World That Is Indispensable To His Life.

We Say 'forest' But This Word Is Made Of The Unknown, The Unfamiliar, The Unencompassed. The Earth. Clods Of Dirt. Pebbles. On A Clear Day You Rest Among Ordinary, Everyday Things That Have Been Familiar To You Since Childhood, Grass, Bushes, A Dog (or A Cat), A Chair, But That Changes When You Realize That Every Object Is An Enormous Army, An Inexhaustible Swarm.