You may be wondering how far into the destruction of literature we will be going, to make something new, that no one will be able to get a grip on anyway, because it always slips away, as my mind slips, as the meaning of words … away, as structure dissolves.
IS THIS THE START OF SOME MASSIVE ACTION, OR ONLY A TEST OF STRENGTH?
Good question. You know despair brings you to this place. Emptiness is here. My heart is a desert. My consciousness is expanding, obviously; but I will be very surprised if it does me any good. But I refuse to be a fucking slave!
AND STILL I move on.
