"I loved the desert, burnt orchards, tired old shops, warm drinks. I dragged myself through stinking alleys, and with my eyes closed I offered myself to the sun, the god of fire."

In the morning I had a look so lost, a face so dead, that perhaps those who I met did not sight me.
Springtime brought me the frightful laugh of an idiot. Boredom is no longer my love. Rage, perversion, madness, whose every impulse and disaster I know, -- this is the burden I am relieved of.