There isn't any relation between me and the others. The world began on 24 September 1934. I am 18 years old, the beautiful age of the reformatories and sadism has finally replaced God. The beauty of man is in his destruction. I am a dream that would love its dreamer. All action is cowardice because of justification. I have never done anything. Annihiliation is perpetually sought, this only is our life. Descartes has as much value as a gardener. There is only one movement possible: that I am the plague and convey the buboes. All means are good for forgetting oneself: suicide, death penalty, drugs, alcoholism, madness. But it would also be necessary to abolish the wearers of uniforms, girls older than fifteen years old who are still virgins, the beings reputedly sane and their prisons. If we few are ready to risk everything, it is because we know that one never has anything to risk and lose. To love or not to love this man or that woman is exactly the same thing.

(Published in Internationale lettriste #2, February 1953. Translated by NOT BORED!)