I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.

The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

I invented the colors of the vowels!--A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green--I made rules for the form and movement of each consonant, and, and with instinctive rhythms, I flattered myself that I had created a poetic language accessible, some day, to all the senses.

Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.

But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

I am alone in possessing a key to this barbarous sideshow.