in the filth of a paradise whose first dupe on earth was not father nor mother who diddled you in this den but I screwed into my madness.
And what seized hold of me that I too rolled my life there? ME, NOTHING, nothing. Because I, I am there, I'm there and it is life that rolls its obscene palm there.
Ok. And afterward?
Afterward? Afterward? The old Artaud is buried
in the chimney hole he owes to his cold gum to the day when he was killed!
And afterward? Afterward? Afterward! He is this unframed hole that life wanted to frame