I feel so mad with normality. I hurt like a shadow.
I rage like an oceon that is paralysed. An agitated storm of shrieking unmovable stillness.
I can't crack the eggs of words to spread the red ink of my secrets.
I don't know what I want to express and it is not knowing that maybe is what I want to express.
I sink into depression like a tiger into quicksand.
I am the mussel that the seagull tears apart. And every fibre is pure agony.
I am the savagery of nature. The cruelty of the wolf and canine. The cold murder of the carnivore.
Yet I sit like Buddha and stillness is alluded by suffering that never rests until I am not present.
A sheet of shadow with holes in it billows as a thousand spiders infinitesimal crawl faster than themselves.
A huge dynasty, a family of incest grows like life and cancer.
A mirror that people see others in rather than themselves.
It is a huge uncarved block that prevents me from reaching you with insight.
I am the withering tree that feels dry and twisted with endless nausia.
I can't express madness without being mad.
I am possessed by indifference as the world hurts
I see a thousand windows overlayed and yet nothing.
The light of knowing chases me seeks me in dark hospital corridors. Naked boys hold small mirrors that they use to see if the dangerous light is coming.
I am unhappy simply and luxuriously. Because I am not terrified. Fear is the invention of pure hell.
I drift through green tea rooms where Chinese humanoids lisp gossip to deities that look like cartoons.
Cats of white moon coldness with distant unloved eyes tear and bite gentle cats until they have killed them. Then I stroke the white cat and it cries because love is painful for it. I Bury the cat it killed in the ground beneath the twisted withering and nausias tree.
(this writing was taken from a letter I wrote)