Brion Gysin

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Painting is fifty
years behind the structural
space of physicists

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Language is drowning
in an obsessive sea of
collaboration

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Semantic stuffed goats
sing the abominable
conundrum of flesh

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Writing is nothing
but a theoretical
misunderstanding

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What are we here for?
We are here to liberate
awakening flesh

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Poets are merchants
of literary rot . . . It’s
all advertising

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Since when do pictures
belong to anybody?
Collector nowhere!

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One sniff of birth and
the riddle of life will sing
like a drowning horse

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Only obsessive
repetition delivers
us from novelty

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The way of all truth
is an imaginary
tale from here to there

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