As I descended into impassable rivers I no longer felt guided by the ferrymen.
A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned, isn't he?
Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.
Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.
Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.
And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.