Naked girls with the heads of Marx and Malraux prone and helpless in the glare of the headlights, tried to give them a little joie de vivre but maybe it didn\'t take, their constant bickering and smallness, it\'s like a stroke of lightning, the world reminds you of its power, tracheotomies right and left, I am spinning, my pretty child, don\'t scratch, pick up your feet, the long nights, spent most of my time listening, this is a test of the system, this is only a test.

The question so often asked of modern painting, \"What is it?\", contains more than the dull skepticism of the man who is not going to have the wool pulled over his eyes. It speaks of a fundamental placement in relation to the work, that of a voyager in the world coming upon a strange object. The reader reconstitutes the work by his active participation, by approaching the object, tapping it, shaking it, holding it to his ear to hear the roaring within. It is characteristic of the object that it does not declare itself all at once, in a rush of pleasant naïveté.

No man\'s plenum, Mr. Quistgaard, is impervious to the awl of God\'s will.

See the moon? It hates us.