Monday, June 21, 2010

Don't prepare the words you cry out.
Speak according to the madness that has seduced you.
When they ask to see the inside of your hand, show them the veiled planets in the sky.
To expose the nakedness of the woman you love, look at her hands. She has lowered her face.
Separate the chalk from the coal, the poppies from the blood.
Do me the favor of entering and leaving on tip-toe.
Perform miracles as to deny them.
sketch the disinterested games of your boredom in the dust.
Don't seize the time to begin again.
Write the imperishable in the sand.
Don't forget to say to the revolver: Delighted but it seems to me I've met you somewhere before.
The outside butterflies are trying to rejoin the inside butterflies. Don't replace, in yourself, a single pane of the street lamp if it should happen to get broken.
Damn what is pure - purity is damned in you.
Observe the light in the mirrors of the blind.
Do you want to own the smallest and the most alarming book in the world? Have the stamps on your love letters bound and then weep - you have good reason to, in spite of it all.

- Extracts from The Original Judgment, a poem by Andre Breton

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