And I want to be held down. I don't know what to do with the horrifying freedom that can destroy me.

No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel.

I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.

Love is now, is always. All that is missing is the coup de grâce- which is called passion.

In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.

What I want is to live of that initial and primordial something that was what made some things reach the point of aspiring to be human.

You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.