We Have Not The Time To Take

To Tear Ourselves Away From The Everyday, From Habit, From Mental Laziness Which Hides From Us The Strangeness Of Reality, We Must Receive Something Like A Real Bludgeon Blow.

Everything That Has Been Will Be, Everything That Will Be Is, Everything That Will Be Has Been.

Ideologies Separate Us. Dreams And Anguish Bring Us Together.

The Critic Should Describe, And Not Prescribe.

The Universe Seems To Me Infinitely Strange And Foreign. At Such A Moment I Gaze Upon It With A Mixture Of Anguish And Euphoria; Separate From The Universe, As Though Placed At A Certain Distance Outside It; I Look And I See Pictures, Creatures That Move In A Kind Of Timeless Time And Spaceless Space, Emitting Sounds That Are A Kind Of Language I No Longer Understand Or Ever Register.