Letter 0376 (Nov. 1960)

Monday evening

With Brissot and Esmet have seen « and to die of pleasure » OK it's good cinema maybe the nightmare apart but I'm starting to find that times is moving slowly and now I still have to stay. I am sad when I consider what I’m bringing to you. I am not that solid man you would have needed, I am only a poor boy with his problems and without a great vision of the world forcefully applicable as a solution. no I am this Proteus hanging on an idea a little idea and all of Golconda’s gold at your feet would not redeem those worries that a weak person must bring to your soul and even I do not know how to offer you all that I love for you and I am very much afraid that the approaching moment where I will be able to give you a little will find you weary of the pleasure of receiving because you will have waited too long, poor life .. and yet I believe that it is not necessary more because a life is cut like a garment to our size of derisory giant. An eternity of coffee with milk and a second of atomic disintegration. I can not wait to wear down my jacket to find some rest, since a few suns, a zombie lives in my eyes and if I can still surprise me, I do not believe that I can do somersaults and what I have shot that I did. too eager to wrest from the questions the garments of flesh of which they seem made. It is obvious that the only watch that we will ever listen to is the beatings of its own heart and that all the springs relaxing in one another spiraling down with [proud] but without a planned place only remains in these mechanical antics a little pity for those who are living, hot guinea pig fur ...
I love you I love you as the application of your transferred face in my thoughts as the memory of incredible delicacies to your eyelids and pearly vibrations in what must throb in you.
I love you like the tearing out of madness to multiply the screams torn by your presence and your silence which rejects the cries so far that they have not yet existed.
            I love you     Arman