Why Was I Born, If

For Me, It Is As Though At Every Moment The Actual World Had Completely Lost Its Actuality. As Though There Was Nothing There; Asthough There Were No Foundations For Anything Or As Though It Escaped Us. Only One Thing, However, Is Vividly Present: The Constant Tearing Of The Veil Of Appearances; The Constant Destruction Of Everything In Construction. Nothing Holds Together, Everything Falls Apart.

Ideologies Separate Us. Dreams And Anguish Bring Us Together.

The End Of Childhood Is When Things Cease To Astonish Us. When The World Seems Familiar, When One Has Got Used To Existence, One Has Become An Adult.

We Haven't The Time To Take Out Time.

I Am, It Seems, An Avant-garde Dramatist. It Would Even Seem Obvious Since I Am Present Here At Discussions On The Avant-garde Theatre. It Is All Entirely Official. But What Does The Term Avant-garde Mean?