But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late!

The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.

Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.

No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.

Already all confusion. Things and imaginings. As of always. Confusion amounting to nothing. Despite precautions. If only she could be pure figment. Unalloyed. This old so dying woman. So dead. In the madhouse of the skull and nowhere else. Where no more precautions to be taken. No precautions possible. Cooped up there with the rest. Hovel and stones. The lot. And the eye. How simple all then. If only all could be pure figment. Neither be nor been nor by any shift to be. Gently gently. On. Careful.

I want very much to be back in the caul, on my back in the dark forever.

If you don't know where you are currently standing, you're dead.