here you have his flowing brown beard, here you have his holy eyes, his holy wide forehead, his holy florid cheeks, his holy strong wrinkled hands . . . O why am I plagued with these visions . . . what can these visions mean . . . what are all these watery beasts, these monsters of the depths . . . am I a fish, and do I swim waters so deep there is no light . . . do I glow in the darkness, do I glow like a glowing specter . . . what are these decapitated heads I see on the mantelpiece . . . what are these trophies of the head-hunter and cannibal . . . O what is this crazy music in my heart, with a disorderly beat, in a shifting key, what is this little voice in my heart, speaking to me with sometimes gentle and sometimes thunderous words . . . where do these words come from, do I see them in the darkness of a cave, do I paint them on my walls, do they come from the void, do they come from the deep shades of the void under my heart . . . there is a chasm, a tear in the universe, a valley in the universe, within every human heart . . . it is all darkness and fog in there, this is our grave, this is the darkness of death, it is within us as we live, the patient assassin waits in there, this is the void, this is the shaded speaker of the poet’s words, there is a little yeast that God has cast in this void, and this yeast constantly gives rise to life and the world, this yeast in the pit of the void gives rise to time and the world, space and flesh, mineral and animal (we are stitched upon the fabric of nothingness), this is where the spirits dwell, shaded in that darkness, and they are a little yeast giving rise to the poet’s poems, the musician’s notes, the painter’s colors . . . these are our devils and our angels . . . this is the crazy music within me, with disorderly beat and shifting key, that crazy music that flows and flows, that small voice that speaks and speaks . . . this is how the world ends, the entire world ends with every human death on the face of the earth . . .