I'm writing a manifesto because I have nothing to say. I speak only of myself since I do not wish to convince. I have no right to drag others into my river. I oblige no one to follow me. And everyone practices his art in his own way, if he knows the joy that rises like arrows to the astral layers, or that other joy that goes down into the minds of corpse flowers and fertile spasms. Does anyone think he has found a psychic base common to all mankind? How can one expect to put order into the chaos that constitutes that infinite and shapeless variation... Man?

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