Ah, the old questions, the old answers, there's nothing like them!
Here's my life, why not, it is one, if you like, if you must, I don't say no, this evening. There has to be one, it seems, once there is speech, no need of a story, a story is not compulsory, just a life, that's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough.
My keepers, why keepers, I'm in no danger of stirring an inch, ah I see, it's to make me think I'm a prisoner, frantic with corporeality, rearing to get out and away.
Tears, that could be the tone, if they weren't so easy, the true tone and tenor at last.
Perhaps it's done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.
This place, if I could describe this place, no place around me, theres no end to me, I dont know what it is, it isnt flesh, it doesnt end, its like air
Yes, in my life, since we must call it so, there were three things, the inability to speak, the inability to be silent, and solitude, thats what Ive had to make the best of.
What can it matter to me, that I succeed or fail? The undertaking is none of mine, if they want me to succeed Ill fail, and vise versa, so as not to be rid of my tormentors.
How all becomes clear and simple when one opens an eye on the within, having of course previously exposed it to the without, in order to benefit by the contrast.
What a joy to know where one is, and where one will stay, without being there. Nothing to do but stretch out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for all eternity. A pity I should have to give tongue at the same time, it prevents it from bleeding in peace, licking the lips.
The essential is to go on squirming forever at the end of the line, as long as there are waters and banks and ravening in heaven a sporting god to plague his creatures, per pro his chosen shits.
At no moment do I know what Im talking about, nor of whom, nor of where, nor how, nor why, but I could employ fifty wretches for this sinister operation and still be short of the fifty-first, to close the circuit, that I know, without knowing what it means.
Dear incomprehension, its thanks to you Ill be myself, in the end.
I, of whom I know nothing, I know my eyes are open, because of the tears that pour from them unceasingly.
These things I say, and shall say, if I can, are no longer, or are not yet, or never were, or never will be, or if they were, if they are, if they will be, were not here, are not here, will not be here, but elsewhere.