The violence and obscenity are left unadulterated, as manifestation of the mystery and pain which ever accompanies the act of creation.
He understands my pity for his ridiculous, humiliating physical necessity.
To withhold from living is to die ... the more you give of yourself to life the more life nourishes you.
Introspection is a devouring monster.
He has, like me, a sense of smell. I let him inhale me, then I slip away.
What everyone forgets is that passion is not merely a heightened sensual fusion but a way of life which produces, as in the mystics, an ecstatic awareness of the whole of life.