I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it calls itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defense the only arms I allow myself to use -- silence, exile, and cunning.

Amar con los ojos cerrados es amar como un ciego. Amar con los ojos abiertos tal vez sea amar como un loco: es aceptarlo todo apasionadamente.
Yo amo como una loca.

Everybody has a secret world inside of them. All of the people of the world, I mean everybody. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside, inside them they’ve all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.

Nana: Shouldn’t love be the only truth?
The Philosopher: For that, love would always have to be true.

Todo va bien o todo va mal, no podría afirmarlo con certeza

Hay un ejército de hormigas marchando en mi alma

Mi corazón es un ancla, mi destino una apuesta

Si tuviera el valor de ser nadie en absoluto

Vivir la vida sin buscarle un sentido a este sin-sentido

Si no muriera por viajar en el tiempo

Todo el tiempo, todo el tiempo

Y si las cosas no fueran como son, pero son

Mientras menos lo pienso, mejor lo entiendo

Mientras más lejos estoy, mejor me siento

No hay atajos en el camino hacia ningún lugar

Tranquilo voy

pero herido estoy

Tranquilo voy

pero herido estoy

Tranquilo voy

pero herido estoy

Tranquilo voy

pero herido estoy

Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;

That's all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift the glass to my mouth,

I look at you, and I sigh.

“Love…is kinda like…you know when you see a fog in the morning when you wake up before the sun comes out? It’s just there a little while, then it burns away. It burns away…quickly. Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.”

O god, I am not like you

In your vacuous black,

Stars stuck allover, bright stupid confetti.

Eternity bores me,

I never wanted it.

Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
'On! on!'- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! me
For me the light of Life is over!
'No more- no more- no more-'
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

- Isn’t it strange how people never form a whole?
- In what way?
- They never come together. They remain separate. Each goes his own way, distrustful and tragic. Even when they’re together, in big buildings, or in the street.

Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that - everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.

What is love? There is nothing in the world, neither man nor Devil nor any thing, that I hold as suspect as love, for it penetrates the soul more than any other thing. Nothing exists that so fills and binds the heart as love does. Therefore, unless you have those weapons that subdue it, the soul plunges through love into an immense abyss.

don't undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don't undress the mannequin
you might find
my love.

I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.

A man who doesn’t know he’s in prison can never escape. As soon as you realise the planet and your body constitute an almost escape-proof jail, as soon as you know you are in prison - you have a possibility to escape.

That’s the thing about letting old lovers go. You don’t stop loving some of them. There are a couple you love no less than you ever did. Not to mention names… but I’m still in love with a couple. You’re not going to try and make it work again, but if they needed you, you’d drop everything.

El sufrimiento hace que uno se abandone a sí Mismo. Uno sale fuera de su estrecha y pequeña piel. Y uno no puede sufrir a menos que antes haya amado... el sufrimiento es el resultado final del amor, porque es el amor perdido. Lo entiendes; sé que lo entiendes. Pero no quieres pensar en ello. Es el ciclo del amor, completado: amar, perder, sufrir, marcharse, y luego amar de nuevo. El sufrimiento es darse cuenta de que uno tendrá que estar solo, y que no hay nada más allá, porque el estar solo es el destino final y definitivo de cada ser vivo individual. Eso es lo que es la muerte: la gran soledad.

The Litany of Hate.

‘I’m such a negative person, and always have been. Was I born that way? I don’t know. I am constantly disgusted by reality, horrified and afraid. I cling desperately to the few things that give me some solace, that make me feel good.

I hate most of humanity. Though I might be very fond of particular individuals, humanity in general fills me with contempt and despair. I hate most of what passes for civilization. I hate the modern world. For one thing there are just too Goddamn many people. I hate the hordes, the crowds in their vast cities, with all their hateful vehicles, their noise and their constant meaningless comings and goings. I hate cars. I hate modern architecture. Every building built after 1955 should be torn down!

I despise modern music. Words cannot express how much it gets on my nerves – the false, pretentious, smug assertiveness of it. I hate business, having to deal with money. Money is one of the most hateful inventions of the human race. I hate the commodity culture, in which everything is bought and sold. No stone is left unturned. I hate the mass media, and how passively people suck up to it.

I hate having to get up in the morning and face another day of this insanity. I hate having to eat, shit, maintain the body – I hate my body. The thought of my internal functions, the organs, digestion, the brain, the nervous system, horrify me.

Nature is horrible. It’s not cute and loveable. It’s kill or be killed. It’s very dangerous out there. The natural world is filled with scary, murderous creatures and forces. I hate the whole way that nature functions. Sex is especially hateful and horrifying, the male penetrating the female, his dick goes into her hole, she’s impregnated, another being grows inside her, and then she must go through a painful ordeal as the new being pushes out of her, only to repeat the whole process in time.

Reproduction – what could be more existentially repulsive?

How I hate the courting ritual. I was always repelled by my own sex drive, which in my youth never left me alone. I was constantly driven by frustrated desires to do bizarre and unacceptable things with and to women. My soul was in constant conflict about it. I never was able to resolve it.

Old age is the only relief.

I hate the way the human psyche works, the way we are traumatized and stupidly imprinted in early childhood and have to spend the rest of our lives trying to overcome these infantile mental fixations. And we never ever fully succeed in this endeavor.

I hate organized religions. I hate governments. It’s all a lot of power games played out by ambition-driven people, and foisted on the weak, the poor, and on children. Most humans are bullies. Adults pick on children. Older children pick on younger children. Men bully women. The rich bully the poor. People love to dominate.

I hate the way humans worship power – one of the most disgusting of all human traits. I hate the human tendency towards revenge and vindictiveness. I hate the way humans are constantly trying to trick and deceive one another, to swindle, to cheat, and take unfair advantage of the innocent, the naïve and the ignorant.

I hate the vacuous, false, banal conversation that goes on among people.
Sometimes I feel suffocated; I want to flee from it.

For me, to be human is, for the most part, to hate what I am. When I suddenly realize that I am one of them, I want to scream in horror.’

“Hell is other people” – Jean Paul Sartre
“Hell is also yourself” – R Crumb

XIII
Aun si digo sol y luna y estrella me refiero a cosas que me suceden. ¿Y qué deseaba yo?
Deseaba un silencio perfecto.
Por eso hablo.

Did perpetual happiness in the Garden of Eden maybe get so boring that eating the apple was justified?

We can’t be as good as we’d want to, so the question then becomes, how do we cope with our own badness?

La dura realidad es una desoladora confusión de hermosos ideales y torpes realizaciones, pero siempre habrá algunos empecinados, héroes, santos y artistas, que en sus vidas y en sus obras alcanzan pedazos del absoluto, que nos ayudan a soportar las repugnantes relatividades.

Cuando la vida amorosa se acaba, toda la vida se vuelve un poco convencional y forzada. Se mantienen la forma humana, el comportamiento habitual, una especie de estructura; pero, como suele decirse, uno ya no hace nada de corazón. Cuando uno ha renunciado a la vida, sólo subsisten los contactos con los comerciantes. En mi caso, se limitan a unas palabras en inglés. No hablo tailandés, cosa que crea a mi alrededor una barrera asfixiante y triste. Lo más probable es que jamás llegue a comprender Asia, pero eso no tiene mucha importancia. Se puede vivir en el mundo sin comprenderlo, basta con que te proporcione alimentos, caricias y amor. En Pattaya los alimentos y las caricias son baratos, según los criterios occidentales e incluso los asiáticos. Del amor me cuesta hablar. Es un fenómeno misterioso. Entraña la dicha, la sencillez y la alegría; pero sigo sin saber por qué o cómo se produce. Y si no he entendido el amor, ¿de qué me serviría entender todo lo demás?

The mummies that exist in your heart never crumble into dust and, when you bend your head over the railing, you see them below, looking at you with their opened eyes, immobile.

Si el invierno te es muy largo yo puedo acortarlo

Si te gustan los planetas yo te los llevo a tu puerta

Y si quieres ver a dios tengo su foto en un cajón

Y si te molesta tu padre mejor dile que se prepare

Y si quieres suicidarte, yo podría dispararte

Y también acompañarte al infierno, a cualquier parte

Y si no quieres nada

Y si quieres matar a todos, aprendo a hacer bombas nucleares

Si quieres ganarte el cielo, yo me arreglo con San Pedro

Si quieres un mundo nuevo, yo ya te lo tengo hecho

O si has querido alas, pues revisa de inmediato tu espalda

Lo que quieras

Lo que quieras

Y si no quieres nada

It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness.
We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

Y me despierto por las mañanas, tratando de quitarme las manazas de mi despertador de encima, cerrando los ojos, escuchando su voz como debajo del agua, tratando de decirle algo pero mi boca no se abre, intentando verla, por última vez, hasta que desaparece por completo. Ya no estoy ahí. Y debo resignarme, levantarme, ducharme, vestirme, comerme un plátano y salir corriendo. Y no estoy hundiéndome. Juro que intento nadar, pero me canso y a veces es mucho más simple dejarme llevar por la corriente, suave y dolorosa, de lo poco que tengo dentro, y lo mucho que nunca pude hacer.

Si tengo suerte el último asiento al lado de la ventana estará vacío.

Pero yo no tengo suerte, yo estoy por siempre maldito.

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.

At the time, my life just seemed too complete, and maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves.

No soy nada.
Nunca seré nada.
No puedo querer ser nada.
Aparte de esto, tengo en mí todos los sueños del mundo.

Ventanas de mi cuarto,
de mi cuarto de uno de los millones de gente que nadie sabe quién es
(y si supiesen quién es, ¿qué sabrían?),
dais al misterio de una calle constantemente cruzada por la gente,
a una calle inaccesible a todos los pensamientos,
real, imposiblemente real, evidente, desconocidamente evidente,
con el misterio de las cosas por lo bajo de las piedras y los seres,
con la muerte poniendo humedad en las paredes y cabellos blancos en los hombres,
con el Destino conduciendo el carro de todo por la carretera de nada.

Hoy estoy vencido, como si supiera la verdad.
Hoy estoy lúcido, como si estuviese a punto de morirme
y no tuviese otra fraternidad con las cosas
que una despedida, volviéndose esta casa y este lado de la calle
la fila de vagones de un tren, y una partida pintada
desde dentro de mi cabeza,
y una sacudida de mis nervios y un crujir de huesos a la ida.

Hoy me siento perplejo, como quien ha pensado y opinado y olvidado.
Hoy estoy dividido entre la lealtad que le debo
a la tabaquería del otro lado de la calle, como cosa real por fuera,
y a la sensación de que todo es sueño, como cosa real por dentro.

He fracasado en todo.
Como no me hice ningún propósito, quizá todo no fuese nada.
El aprendizaje que me impartieron,
me apeé por la ventana de las traseras de la casa.
Me fui al campo con grandes proyectos.
Pero sólo encontré allí hierbas y árboles,
y cuando había gente era igual que la otra.
Me aparto de la ventana, me siento en una silla. ¿En qué voy a pensar?
¿Qué sé yo del que seré, yo que no sé lo que soy?
¿Ser lo que pienso? Pero ¡pienso ser tantas cosas!
¡Y hay tantos que piensan ser lo mismo que no puede haber tantos!
¿Un genio? En este momento
cien mil cerebros se juzgan en sueños genios como yo,
y la historia no distinguirá, ¿quién sabe?, ni a uno,
ni habrá sino estiércol de tantas conquistas futuras.
No, no creo en mí.
¡En todos los manicomios hay locos perdidos con tantas convicciones!
Yo, que no tengo ninguna convicción, ¿soy más convincente o menos convincente?

No, ni en mí...
¿En cuántas buhardillas y no buhardillas del mundo
no hay en estos momentos genios-para-sí-mismos soñando?
¿Cuántas aspiraciones altas y nobles y lúcidas
-sí, verdaderamente altas y nobles y lúcidas-,
y quién sabe si realizables, no verán nunca la luz del sol verdadero
ni encontrarán quien les preste oídos?
El mundo es para quien nace para conquistarlo
y no para quien sueña que puede conquistarlo, aunque tenga razón.
He soñado más que lo que hizo Napoleón.
He estrechado contra el pecho hipotético más humanidades que Cristo,
he pensado en secreto filosofías que ningún Kant ha escrito.
Pero soy, y quizá lo sea siempre, el de la buhardilla,
aunque no viva en ella;
seré siempre el que no ha nacido para eso;
seré siempre el que tenía condiciones;
seré siempre el que esperó que le abriesen la puerta al pie de una pared sin puerta
y cantó la canción del Infinito en un gallinero,
y oyó la voz de Dios en un pozo tapado.
¿Creer en mí? No, ni en nada.
Derrámame la naturaleza sobre mi cabeza ardiente
su sol, su lluvia, el viento que tropieza en mi cabello,
y lo demás que venga si viene, o tiene que venir, o que no venga.
Esclavos cardíacos de las estrellas,
conquistamos el mundo entero antes de levantarnos de la cama;
pero nos despertamos y es opaco,
nos levantamos y es ajeno,
salimos de casa y es la tierra entera,
y el sistema solar y la Vía Láctea y lo Indefinido.

And I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Rudy's and talk about the day and type your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don't listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you're sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match and tell you about the programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while and kiss your back and stroke your skin and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you're late and be amazed when you're early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I'm black and be sorry when I'm wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I'd known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you're angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you're gorgeous and hug you when you're anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I'm next to you and whimper when I'm not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don't and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I'm rejecting you when I'm not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I'd ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don't believe me and have a feeling so deep I can't find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I'd get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don't want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don't mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it's empty without you and want want you want and think I'm losing myself but know I'm safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don't deserve any less and answer your questions when I'd rather not and tell you the truth when I really don't want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it's all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it's a beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you.

Espero dentro de poco tiempo estrujarla entre mis brazos y cubrirla con un millón de besos debajo del ecuador.

Después la trágica retirada para la sepultura o la fosa,
Y después el principio de la muerte de tu memoria.
Hay primero en todos un alivio
De la tragedia un poco inoportuna de que hayas muerto…
Después la conversación se aligera cotidianamente,
Y la vida de todos los días retoma su día…
Después, lentamente olvidaste.
Sólo eres recordado en dos fechas, anualmente:
Cuando hace años que naciste, cuando hace años
......que moriste.
Nada más, nada más, absolutamente nada más.
Dos veces en el año piensan en ti.
Dos veces en el año suspiran por ti los que te amaron,
Y una u otra vez suspiran si acaso se habla de ti.

Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

My second thoughts condemn,
And wonder how I dare
To look you in the eye.
What right have I to swear
Even at one a.m.
To love you till I die?
Earth meets too many crimes
For fibs to interest her;
If I can give my word,
Forgiveness can recur
Any number of times
In Time. Which is absurd.
Tempus fugit. Quite.
So finish up your drink.
All flesh is grass. It is.
But who on earth can think
With heavy heart or light
Of what will come of this?