It is five in the morning and I have been up all night again. I can hear my neighbors already up outside, ready to move with the earth. They are farmers. If I had the courage, I would walk over to them and beg them to teach me some discipline.

Could I be taught such a thing? Would it not kill me?

I am a gypsy at heart. Lazy, unwilling to work, starving, stealing, playing. I don't know what's good for me, I live without caution. Because of that, the risk of dying is greater- which is what characterizes life. A life with no risk is still in the grave. Life depends on death, on accidents. Life, in itself, is the fall from grace. Life is impure, immoral, disgusting, because it is carried out by humanity. We are its medium, a breath escaping from a mouth. It's our pulsating blood, our mass consciousness. It is the point where the all the poles cave in, avalanching on each other, when something so horrifyingly ugly is beautiful.