Todas as Frases

I pin down the instants of metamorphosis and there’s a terrible beauty to their sequence and concurrence.

I reach the real through the dream. I invent you, reality.

I renounce having a meaning, and then the sweet and painful weakness grips me.

I surpass myself abdicating myself and am therefore the world: I follow the voice of the world, I myself suddenly with a unique voice.

I too am ferociously alive—and I lick my snout like a tiger who has just devoured a deer.

I transfigure reality and then another dreaming and sleepwalking reality, creates me.

I unfold only in the now.

I want inside this night that is longer than life, I want, inside this night, life raw and bloody and full of saliva.

I want the inconclusive. I want the profound organic disorder that nevertheless hints at an underlying order.

I want to be buried with the watch on my wrist so that in the earth something can pulse time.

I want to die with life. I swear that I shall only die profiting from the last instant.

I want to feel in my hands the quivering and lively nerve of the now and may that nerve resist me like a restless vein.

I want to grab hold of the is of the thing.

I write because I so deeply want to speak.

I write to you because I don’t understand myself.

I—I am my own death. And no one goes further. The barbarian within me seeks the cruel barbarian outside me.

I, alive and glimmering like the instants, spark and go out, alight and go out, spark and go out.

I’ll tell you a secret: life is deadly.

I’m after whatever is lurking beyond thought.

I’m terribly lucid and it seems I’m reaching a higher plane of humanity. Or of unhumanity—the it.