We Do Not Die Because

Admittedly Or Not, Conscious Or Unconscious, The Poetic State, A Transcendent Experience Of Life, Is What The Public Is Fundamentally Seeking Through Love, Crime, Drugs, War, Or Insurrection.

How Hard Is It, When Everything Encourages Us To Sleep, Though We May Look About Us With Conscious, Clinging Eyes, To Wake And Yet Look About Us As In A Dream, With Eyes That No Longer Know Their Function And Whose Gaze Is Turned Inward.

The Actor Is An Athlete Of The Heart.

Squander Your Riches Far From This Unfeeling Body To Which No Season, Either Spiritual Or Sensual, Makes Any Difference.

The Race Of Prophets Is Extinct. Europe Is Becoming Set In Its Ways, Slowly Embalming Itself Beneath The Wrappings Of Its Borders, Its Factories, Its Law-courts And Its Universities. The Frozen Mind Cracks Between The Mineral Staves Which Close Upon It.