It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

You will always be a hyena.

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.

Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.

I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.

Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.