What Goes By The Name Of Love

It Was Long Since I Had Longed For Anything And The Effect On Me Was Horrible.

I, Of Whom I Know Nothing, I Know My Eyes Are Open, Because Of The Tears That Pour From Them Unceasingly.

Poets Are The Sense, Philosophers The Intelligence Of Humanity.

My Characters Have Nothing. I'm Working With Impotence, Ignorance... That Whole Zone Of Being That Has Always Been Set Aside By Artists As Something Unusable - Something By Definition Incompatible With Art.

The Sun Shone, Having No Alternative, On The Nothing New.