I'm an anti-Pyrrhonist. I believe, as far as I can, everything.
To hold contradictory positions is to acknowledge that subjective reality is a reality. Objectively the world is round and bounded, but my world stretches flat and infinite.
I ask of any theory not whether it's true, elegant, useful, but—is it fun? The ludic is more essential, because more alive, than the lucid.
I seek a poetry of the impure.
Surrealism is a century of saying to Dada, “Stop that, it isn't funny.”
My poetry wants to liberate the body from its cage of soul, the mind from its prison of spirit. Sometimes that means luring them all into an intricate maze in hope that the right ones, the dull cousins, will starve to death before finding the exit.