. . . this is your soulful bread, these are your soul splitting agonies, O why have you come to me, gentle poltergeist, where is your leader, are you a leaderless chaos, are you an anarchy of terrible agonies, do you live in the past and are your memories unbearable (I myself have many unbearable memories, I understand your unbearable memories), and this is all your doing, these chains are your doing, this cement that encases my heart is your doing, this cold coat of flesh I shiver in is your doing, this gray wormy body is your doing, I am spirit-flesh, I am monstrosity, there is no way to turn back the clock, there is no way to win back my soul, I have passed into the void and seen many terrors, I have passed into the poisonous fog and seen many monsters, this is the cup you have given me, it is overflowing with the blood of hogs and the poison of snakes, O why do these creatures constantly bite and sting me, here I am, flayed out on the ground, lying prone in the desert, my hands and legs staked to the ground in a great X, and every species of small monster is biting and stinging me, every species of toxic monster is trying to poison me with its life-substance, these are the instincts of the crazy person: come, break that loaf, we shall turn it to poison in our stomachs, and swarm like bees, and sting and sting and sting and sting,