Do You Know That Hope

It Is Because I Dove Into The Abyss That I Am Beginning To Love The Abyss I Am Made Of.

To Think Is An Act. To Feel Is A Fact.

What I Want Is To Live Of That Initial And Primordial Something That Was What Made Some Things Reach The Point Of Aspiring To Be Human.

My Life, The Most Truthful One, Is Unrecognizable, Extremely Interior, And There Is No Single Word That Gives It Meaning.

I Have Grown Weary Of Literature: Silence Alone Comforts Me. If I Continue To Write, It’s Because I Have Nothing More To Accomplish In This World Except To Wait For Death. Searching For The Word In Darkness. Any Little Success Invades Me And Puts Me In Full View Of Everyone. I Long To Wallow In The Mud. I Can Scarcely Control My Need For Self-abasement, My Craving For Licentiousness And Debauchery. Sin Tempts Me, Forbidden Pleasures Lure Me. I Want To Be Both Pig And Hen, Then Kill Them And Drink Their Blood.