Kirjoitan kirjoittamisen ilosta. En voi lopettaa sitä, haluan päästä eteenpäin sen avulla. Luoda värikkäitä tunteita, naurattaa, itkettää, hämmentää, rakentaa parempaa elämää. "Elämästä nauttivien ihmisten valolla..."
Ehkäpä vielä joskus teen Rimbaudit.
Rimbaud
Alchemy of the Word (I)
To me. The story of one of my eccentricities.
For a long time I boasted that I possessed all the possible landscapes, and I thought celebrities of painting and modern poetry were derisory.
I liked idiot paintings, doorways, decorations, travelling acrobats canvas, signs, popular illuminations; antiquated literature, church Latin, erotic books full of misspellings, our grandmothers novels, fairy tales, childhood little books, old operas, silly chorus, naive rhythms.
I dreamed of crusades, discovery travels without any attachment, republics without histories, stifled religious wars, revolutions of moral, movements of races and continents: I believed in all wonders.
I invented the colors of vowels! — A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green. — I made rules for the form and movement of every consonant, and I flattered myself to invent a poetic verb with instinctive rhythms that would be accessible sooner or later, to all senses. I reserved the translation.
It began as a consideration. I wrote silences, nights, I noted down what was inexpressible. I set vertigoes.
