I Have Gone To The Forest.

An Increasing Number Of People Who Lead Mental Lives Of Great Intensity, People Who Are Sensitive By Nature, Notice The Steadily More Frequent Appearance In Them Of Mental States Of Great Strangeness ... A Wordless And Irrational Feeling Of Ecstasy; Or A Breath Of Psychic Pain; A Sense Of Being Spoken To From Afar, From The Sky Or The Sea; An Agonizingly Developed Sense Of Hearing Which Can Cause One To Wince At The Murmuring Of Unseen Atoms; An Irrational Staring Into The Heart Of Some Closed Kingdom Suddenly And Briefly Revealed.

The Whisper Of The Blood And The Pleading Of The Bone Marrow.

There Are Some People Who Cannot Help Giving. Why? Because They Experience A Real Psychological Pleasure In Doing So. They Don't Do It With An Eye To Their Own Advantage, They Do It On The Quiet; They Detest Doing It Openly Because That Would Take Away Some Of The Satisfaction. They Do It In Secret, With Quick Trembling Hands, Their Breasts Rocked By A Spiritual Well Being Which They Do Not Themselves Understand.

You Are Welcome To Your Intellectual Pastimes And Books And Art And Newspapers; Welcome, Too, To Your Bars And Your Whisky That Only Makes Me Ill. Here Am I In The Forest, Quite Content.

...i Will Exile My Thoughts If They Think Of You Again, And I Will Rip My Lips Out If They Say Your Name Once More. Now If You Do Exist, I Will Tell You My Final Word In Life Or In Death, I Tell You Goodbye.