I will go crazy, in the ecstasy of the knowledge. Being one with the art, feeling it. I will have to let myself go. My heart will break free and have no control on itself. It will roam the streets, naked. Not knowing anything, but looking, searching, lost in its own memories. It will look deep within itself and see a big, empty void. It will see the transience of things and wonder at man's foolishness in the belief of eternity. It will walk on the high streets and turn off the big gas lamps. It will plunge into darkness and find joy in its midst.
I have seen so little, and yet I am overwhelmed. If I let myself go, my heart will set out on a journey of its own. But it is a journey into nothingness. There is no end, except in madness. The loneliness, the silence, Death's deep, booming sound and Insanity's mad cackle of laughter. I shall drown and not be seen again. My dreams will no longer resemble reality. But oh, what is reality? Is the madness I'm descending into part of my dream? How shall I live if I let myself go? I have no courage. What of everything they have told me, the people around me?
Show me no more. I beg you. Beauty is a dangerous thing. It is like seven sharp knives. And it destroys. It takes the body and rips it apart. And then it sews the soul together, slowly, stitch by stitch, carefully. But what good is the soul if the body does not exist. I don't want to be part of this madness. I will live my crass, crude life and ignore Beauty. I am too afraid to touch it. Do not attempt to burn your torch of life into me. I am too afraid to carry it. Show me no more, tell me no more. Let me be, I beg you.
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