Updated Sunday, January 19, 2020 - 1:12 PM
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1957. My ideal of writing: silence the poet we lodge within us forever; liquidate our last vestiges of lyricism; go against the current of who we are, betray our inspirations; trample our impulses and even our gestures.
Any tufo to poetry poisons prose and makes it irrespirable.
I have a negative courage, a courage directed against myself. I have oriented my life out of the meaning she has prescribed for me. I have invalidated my future (j 26
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