I Confess, I Do Not Believe In

I Mean, I Have The Feeling That Something In My Mind Is Poisoning Everything Else.

One Is Always At Home In One's Past.

Whenever I Start Thinking Of My Love For A Person, I Am In The Habit Of Immediately Drawing Radii From My Love - From My Heart, From The Tender Nucleus Of A Personal Matter- To Monstrously Remote Points Of The Universe. Something Impels Me To Measure The Consciousness Of My Love Against Such Unimaginable And Incalculable Things As The Behaviour Of Nebulae (whose Very Remoteness Seems A Form Of Insanity), The Dreadful Pitfalls Of Eternity, The Unknowledgeable Beyond The Unknown, The Helplessness, The Cold, The Sickening Involutions And Interpenetrations Of Space And Time.

I Have No Desires, Save The Desire To Express Myself In Defiance Of All The World’s Muteness.

Don't Touch Me; I'll Die If You Touch Me.