I Call For Actors Burning At The

The Idea Of A Detached Art, Of Poetry As A Charm Which Exists Only To Distract Our Leisure, Is A Decadent Idea And An Unmistakable Symptom Of Our Power To Castrate.

Destroy Yourselves, You Who Are Desperate, And You Who Are Tortured In Body And Soul, Abandon All Hope. There Is No More Solace For You In This World. The World Lives Off Your Rotting Flesh.

These Terrifying Forms Which Advance On Me, I Feel That The Despair They Bring Is Alive. It Slips Into This Nucleus Of Life Beyond Which The Paths Of Eternity Extend. It Is Truly An Eternal Separation. They Slip Their Knives Into This Center Where I Feel Myself A Man, They Sever Those Vital Ties Which Bind Me To The Dream Of My Lucid Reality.

All Writing Is Garbage. People Who Come Out Of Nowhere To Try And Put Into Words Any Part Of What Goes On In Their Minds Are Pigs.

A Tainted Society Has Invented Psychiatry To Defend Itself Against The Investigations Of Certain Superior Intellects Whose Faculties Of Divination Would Be Troublesome.