13.

A reception at the Academy makes me want to laugh.

A king makes me want to laugh.

Jésus-Christ-Rastaquouère makes me want to laugh!

The cock like Othello,
Resembles Macbeth,
About the olive trees.

## KNOWN AND UNKNOWN.

The unknown does not exist. Providence is known, it is not an enigma. There is only heredity.

The village sleeps,
Thoughts
Like beasts
Hide themselves.

## WASH-OUTS.

Disinterested beings living at the expense of others celebrating the joy of work and the voluptuousness of revolutions, they do things, and that without laughing, and cooingly!

## HOW OLD ARE YOU?

Under a sheet, in a room, to-day a short time ago, I made love with open hands.

The great ox-eyed daisies,
Like so many suns,
Descend in my brain
Bristling with brambles.

17.

WE ARE IN
A DIGESTIVE TUBE.

And this digestive tube is larger and larger, it represents
space, whereas ours is only a shooting star, perceived by this
space for a fugitive instant.

THE JUSTICE OF MEN
IS MORE CRIMINAL
THAN CRIME.

The eternal sleep of life is sitting in your bed, he is agreeable and friendly, his body is flimsier than the air which blows in the same place, on the visage of human majesty; isn't it true dear philosopher, meditator or conjuror of salted clouds, that when you take flight with these clouds there remains nothing but the buffoonnery of fresh water? You alone are exempt from the laws of gravity; tell me then, dear philosopher, if really your weight is not like the razor of phosphorescent waves, and if red socialism is anything else than the simpleton in the beak of the cuttlefish of which the phonograph-tentacles play you the VERY HOT STUFF MISERICORDE.

The mouth of men is an unconscious sex. The sound that comes
from your countenances dives again noiselessly into immobility-
circumference.

When anyone speaks,
His lower jaw
makes me ashamed;
His mouth's interior
Is a black sky.
I can't love you,
I detest myself.

19.

## CHAPTER III.

### THE COLD EYE.

After we die, they ought to put us into a ball, a wooden ball of many colours. They would roll it to get us to the cemetery, and the undertaker's men in charge of the job would wear transparent gloves, in order to recall to memory of caresses, to lovers.

For those who should wish to add to their furniture of objective pleasure in the dear one, there would be crystal balls, through which one would see the final nudity of one's grandfather or one's twin brother!

Wake of the intelligence, phosphorescent steeplechase; human beings are like crows with fixed eyes who take their flight above corpses - and all red-skins are station masters!

### VERTEBRAL EAU DE COLOGNE.

Look, look at the grey substance which ends in athletes; let me give myself a friction with eau-de-cologne, in every meaning of the phrase; an eau-de-cologne friction in the starlight.

It is not feminine luxury which attracts the male, but masculine imbecility which puts off the woman. The virile sex always imagines itself as playing the hero, or a being not having to scheme for the situation he thinks he is going to occupy. Women, very sensibly, prefer their semblances!

20.

The prospect is so beauteous, isn't it, dear she-friend? A
big belly, a little animal that squeals, the egoism of a cancer
that drains you! Then, when in spite of everything, you have
attached yourself to this cancer, your dear country takes you, so
that you can have the joy of thinking that after your death your
beloved native land will be able to tyrannise a little more over
its neighbours! . . . . .

In the name of the great virile future, fertile and renewer
of the world, I condemn the idiocy which urges men on to a super-
saturation of their kind, solely in order to conserve their
masculine capitalism. But I am calm about the matter, the world
is too stupid to end so soon.

Do you now represent the universe as totally different, and
with above the clouds the beads of the eucharistic rosary?

Oblates, how are you getting on? To console your heart,
here's something.

## THE BLESSED VIRGIN DANCES THE TANGO WITH THE GREAT JULOT.

This song gives me a good deal of pleasure, the Blessed
Virgin is in reality the true patroness of prostitutes. The
Blessed Virgin is of glass, the light which goes through her
leaves no trace; Joseph is a small noon-day sun.

Suck the juice of a cherry, I beg you, as you read these
lines.

22.

CHAPTER IV.

PONSA SINORUM.

You hunt always for emotions already experienced, as you
like to get an old pair of trousers back from the dyers, which
looks new when one doesn't examine it too closely. Artists are
~~cleaners~~ dyers, don't be taken in by them. Genuine modern works of art
are made not by artists, but *quaint* simply by men.

"The error of the public is in looking at modern works as
though they were a puzzle to which it had got to find the key.

"There is no puzzle, there is no key. The work exists, its
only object is to exist. It represents nothing but the wish of
the brain that conceived it. Nature's inventions charm us with-
out there being any question, before them, of *reasoning* or *reason*
argument or object.

"The artistic pleasure that modern works can procure for us
is of the same kind. They must be looked at as one looks at a
tree, a flower, a landscape. There is nothing to understand that
cannot be read by anyone. The spectator experiences a great de-
ception in proving the simplicity of the processes of understand-
ing. He is ready to find himself the victim of a bad joke etc."

These lines have been written by Gabrielle Buffet, I take
pleasure in quoting them, the author shows clearly the feebleness
of men's judgment!

23.

This morning a young genius asked permission to paint my portrait, a portrait which was to appear in a book on modern artists.

"The likeness doesn't interest me," he declared! Him, perhaps not, but the public!

It seems to me that it is one of those cases where a photograph is clearly indicated!

I want to make an "artistic" motor car, in rosewood, mixed with Pink pills. The tyres would be in steel, the ball bearings in rubber, as FUTURISM it wouldn't be bad! After all, at a given moment, there is no reason why "Rolls-Royce" should not be made like this.

You artistic gentlemen clear out, you are a band of clergy who still want to make us believe in God.

GOD WAS A JEW
HE WAS HOAXED
BY THE CATHOLICS.

Cheat = William Apollinaire.

I prefer Arthur Cravan who went round the world during the war, perpetually obliged to change his nationality in order to escape from human stigmatisation. Arthur Cravan disguised himself as a soldier in order not to become one, he did what all our friends do who disguise themselves as honest men in order not to be honest men.

24.

AS FOR ME, I DISGUISE MYSELF
AS A MAN
IN ORDER TO BE NOTHING.

You give wise advice
And ask extraordinary questions;
But why do you choose
The past to estimate the nothingness
Slumbering profoundly?

bizarre?

There are a thousand things to pass the time, and there is
nothing to pass the time.

What is the use of dying, what is the use of living?

Here we are in the infinite, which changes in order to
become a yard of cloth at 99 francs, 95.

And this yard of cloth, it is happiness, it reassures us,
it makes us believe yet more that we are part of the universe.
There is no acquired force, there is only one movement, Chemistry
is nothing but movement, and the movement only exists in our
convention.

THERE ARE FAR FEWER
THINGS ON EARTH
THAN OUR PHILOSOPHY
MAKES US BELIEVE.

in the
It concerns itself at present with the always posthumous.
A deceased friend
Replaces luck.

SPINOZA ALONE
HAS NOT READ SPINOZA.

But I am a child who is learning to sit up. Bossuet is a
melancholy poet, priests make death disagreeable - Drive
out the
chicken-livered. (Chase theights)

26.

dog's jaws, he amused himself by throwing it to the other end of
the room, shouting to the animal to bring it back to him; three
times the game recommenced, the dog brought back the head carrying
it by the nose; but the third time Jacques Dingué having made a
***it was harder*** throw, it was shattered against the wall, and to
more powerful throw, bowler discovered his great joy, the play of ball
affected was able to ascertain that the brain that affected only presented one circumvolution and
previously affected to mistake the meaning of the shape of a pair of buttocks!.

The interval is over, dear readers, we will go on with
the

28.

accept them no matter what, but
destiny you accept, you will never be anything but fools trans-
formed into intellectuals!

But here,
The doors close;
You have not permission
To enter.

But now
The doors are closing
You did not have
Permission

AN INTOXICATION
IS ALWAYS MORAL.

The intoxication of parents, alone, is immoral.

Clear out, you guardians of a Beaux-Arts education, of capital-
ist operations; involuntarily or voluntarily you want to make life
a cemetery for the newly born, you want beings subjugated by your
bad examples; it is solely the desire of property Fathers and
mothers have not the power of life or death over their children,
but our Native Country, our second mother, can sacrifice them at
her will, to augment the glory of politicians.

POLITICIANS
SPRING UP
ON THE HUMAN DUNGHEAP.

No, I prefer to think of Ribemont-Dessaignes who wrote these
lines:

"According to St. John Cluster-pipe"

"Well, what's wrong with him? It is impossible to put one's
nose outside the door without breathing a pancake batter that
solidifies on one's face, and stifles one. Are these men, these