Death, Vicious Death, Leave A Green Branch

But Hurry, Let's Entwine Ourselves As One, Our Mouth Broken, Our Soul Bitten By Love, So Time Discovers Us Safely Destroyed.

...i Am The Immense Shadow Of My Tears

The Theater Has To Impose Itself On The Public, And Not The Public On The Theater... The Word "art" Should Be Written Everywhere, In The Auditorium And In The Dressing Rooms, Before The Word "business" Gets Written There.

At First Glance, The Rhythm May Be Confused With Gaiety, But When You Look More Closely At The Mechanism Of Social Life And The Painful Slavery Of Both Men And Machines, You See That It Is Nothing But A Kind Of Typical, Empty Anguish That Makes Even Crime And Gangs Forgivable Means Of Escape.

Little Black Horse. Where Are You Taking Your Dead Rider?