Artaud, electro-shock survivor, scrapes the shit-slimed bottom of his unconscious mind and sculpts poems from the gleanin’s. It’s a challenging read, often inscrutable, but the depths hinted at are within each of us.
And it was always drainage for angels, / and my drainage passed theirs, / the day when / forced to hoe in the syphilitic resins / of a filth organized from the very beginning, / I understood that the hoed one was me, — / and that what you have defecated defecates you / if you do not take / well in advance / the precaution to syphilize, / the penis abscess / IN THE SNOT-SUCKING MUZZLE OF THE WILL. [Panjandrum Books]