Love Is When You Meet Someone Who

The Clouds Were Disappearing Rapidly, Leaving The Stars To Die. The Night Dried Up.

Past And Future Monopolize The Poet’s Sensory And Intellectual Faculties, Detached From The Immediate Spectacle. These Two Philtres Become Utterly Clear The Moment One Stops Being Hypnotized By The Cloudy Precipitate Constituted By The World Of Today.

We All Love Conflagrations. When The Sky Changes Color, It Is A Dead Man's Passing.

The Approval Of The Public Is To Be Avoided Like The Plague. It Is Absolutely Essential To Keep The Public From Entering If One Wishes To Avoid Confusion. I Must Add That The Public Must Be Kept Panting In Expectation At The Gate By A System Of Challenges And Provocations.

The Invention Of Photography Has Dealt A Mortal Blow To The Old Modes Of Expression, In Painting As Well As In Poetry, Where Automatic Writing, Which Appeared At The End Of The Nineteenth Century, Is A True Photography Of Thought. Since A Blind Instrument Now Assured Artists Of Achieving The Aim They Had Set Themselves Up To That Time, They Now Aspired, Not Without Recklessness, To Break With The Imitation Of Appearances.