A Vast Field of Ruins
for Antonin Artaud
I am in constant pursuit.
The substance of my thoughts so tangled,
themselves larval and ill-formed,
awkward passages and disconcerting oddities,
all the branchings in thought and form
to salvage from the utter void.
I have a right to speak.
I must write at all costs
to show myself as I am
I won't allow my thoughts to be lost,
swallowed up by invisible whirlwinds,
from the operation of chance,
constantly spreading out in all directions.Â
outlets [of]
many spheres and levels
unlimited in number
where it can spread out.
Robbing us of speech and memory,
shaken to its foundations
a vast field of ruins.
What a terrible heritage.
Chance reigns there,
it requires hurdles - accidental obstacles [to contain it].
Where the object or obstacle are entirely missing,
everything disintegrates
right down to the last dregs.
condemned to oblivion
By itself, it goes astray and destroys itself
exposed to ravaging blasts which throw it into confusion.
and ravage[s] the mind's substance.
the mind requires a landmark
aware of the stops and starts
nervous energy emanating and solidifying around things.
touching on other things,
panting at the gates of life.
These deep-seated tornadoes
We should never be too hasty in judging.
Enough about me and my unborn works.
I would only admit myself beaten.
I feel I am close to deep and private suffering.
Occasionally, I lose all hope.
The stages I pass through
to distort the meaning of the word,
something poor, awkward, feeble,
But in a purely accidental way.
[I] experience death in small doses
prone to fluctuations
reasons for these fadings out [are unknown]
Where does our being go?
Lines gathered from correspondence between Antonin Artaud and Jacques Riviere 1923/24 - COLLECTED WORKS OF ANTONIN ARTAUD VOLUME ONEÂ