l'obscurité est mon seul ami

Okay, here goes: I am not normal and I have never been normal and I’ll never be normal and please don’t ever say I’m a nice guy because being a nice guy is the last thing I consider myself. I am a horrible, damaged monster doing his best to stagger through this shit storm I was born into. I suffer crippling manic depression and have been diagnosed as borderline schizophrenic. I can almost never go to sleep. After a childhood and adolescence filled with continual abuse and violence, I literally feel as if I’m dying when my body does something stupid like try to rest. I see demon or monster faces when I close my eyes. This is similar to meth addicts who have stayed awake too long and probably just a product of my insane insomnia. I am not a person. I do not do things a person does. I haven’t been a person in years.

I don’t want your pity. I don’t want a fucking thing from you. I’m not posting shit to look cool. I’m a garbage person attempting to expell through written word what I’ve done with my life. Simply allow me to write and make my jokes. This is all I have, understand? Ah yes, I forget, you cannot understand.

I have been, and inevitably will always be, trapped alone in this black diving bell at the bottom of a lightless ocean...cables severed...

homeless, hungry, happy

An age such as ours is the most difficult one of all for an artist. There is no place for him. At least, that is what one hears on all sides. Nevertheless, some few artists of our time have made a place for themselves. Picasso made a place for himself. Joyce made a place for himself. Matisse made a place for himself. Celine made a place for himself. Should I rattle off the whole list?

Those who are perpetually talking about the inability to communicate with the world, have they made every effort? Have they learned how to be as wise and cunning as the serpent, as well as strong and obstinate as a bull? Or are they braying like donkeys, whining about some ideal condition in the ever-receding future when every man will be recognized and rewarded for his labors? Do they really expect such a day to dawn, these simple souls? I feel that I have some right to speak about the difficulty of establishing communication with the world since my books are banned in the only countries where I can be read in my own tongue. I have enough faith in myself however to know that I eventually will make myself heard, if not understood. Everything I write is loaded with the dynamite which will one day destroy the barriers erected about me. If I fail it will be because I did not put enough dynamite into my words. And so, while I have the strength and the gusto I will load my words with dynamite... You want to communicate. All right, communicate! Use any and every means.