Destroy Yourselves, You Who Are Desperate, And

So Society Has Strangled In Its Asylums All Those It Wanted To Get Rid Of Or Protect Itself From, Because They Refused To Become Its Accomplices In Certain Great Nastinesses.

The Truth Of Life Lies In The Impulsiveness Of Matter. The Mind Of Man Has Been Poisoned By Concepts. Do Not Ask Him To Be Content, Ask Him Only To Be Calm, To Believe That He Has Found His Place. But Only The Madman Is Really Calm.

[nietzsche's] Definition Of Cruelty Informs Artaud's Own, Declaring That All Art Embodies And Intensifies The Underlying Brutalities Of Life To Recreate The Thrill Of Experience ... Although Artaud Did Not Formally Cite Nietzsche, [their Writing] Contains A Familiar Persuasive Authority, A Similar Exuberant Phraseology, And Motifs In Extremis.

The Idea Of A Detached Art, Of Poetry As A Charm Which Exists Only To Distract Our Leisure, Is A Decadent Idea And An Unmistakable Symptom Of Our Power To Castrate.

Written Poetry Is Worth Reading Once, And Then Should Be Destroyed. Let The Dead Poets Make Way For Others.