Leave The Caves Of Being. Come. The

When We Speak The Word 'life,' It Must Be Understood We Are Not Referring To Life As We Know It From Its Surface Of Fact, But To That Fragile, Fluctuating Center Which Forms Never Reach.

And What Is An Authentic Madman? It Is A Man Who Preferred To Become Mad, In The Socially Accepted Sense Of The Word, Rather Than Forfeit A Certain Superior Idea Of Human Honor. 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. For A Madman Is Also A Man Whom Society Did Not Want To Hear And Whom It Wanted To Prevent From Uttering Certain Intolerable Truths.

No One Has Ever Written, Painted, Sculpted, Modeled, Built, Or Invented Except Literally To Get Out Of Hell.

I Am A Man By Virtue Of My Hands And My Feet, My Belly, My Heart Of Meat, My Stomach Whose Knots Reunite Me To The Putrefaction Of Life.

All Writing Is Garbage. People Who Come Out Of Nowhere To Try And Put Into Words Any Part Of What Goes On In Their Minds Are Pigs.