I am the slave of my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune, and you have caused your own.

The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.

O witches, O misery, O hate, to you has my treasure been entrusted! I contrived to purge my mind of all human hope. On all joy, to strangle it, I pounced with the strength of a wild beast. I called to the plagues to smother me in blood, in sand, misfortune was my God.

Your memory and your senses will be nourishment for your creativity.

And from then on, I bathed in the Poem of the Sea, star-infused, and opalescent, devouring green azures

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?

. . . be absolute moderne.