Impossible to reach any definite conclusion because my arguments were shifting all the time, continually changing.
from his Miserable Miracle (tr. LouiseVarèse, (City Lights Books, 1963)
The above passage comes from the most frightening chapter of the book, entitled "Experimental Schizophrenia," in which Michaux accidentally doses himself with six times his intended measure of mescaline, then describes the experience.
TiR will strive to spare the reader its dumb observations about exactly how and why this chapter is so terrifying, and the possible implications thereof for the annihilation of the Bergsonian durée.]
[We are happy to discover now that NYRB put out a new edition of this one, a few years back.
But wishes are not horses, this Annus is not mirabilis; Day breaks upon the world we know Of war and wastefulness and woe . . .
O source of equity and rest . . . Disturb our negligence and chill, Convict our pride of its offence In all things, even penitence, Instruct us in the civil art Of making from the muddled heart A desert and a city where The thoughts that have to labor there May find locality and peace, And pent-up feelings their release, Send strength sufficient for our day, And point our knowledge on its way.
from "New Year Letter (January 1, 1940)" dedicated to Elizabeth Mayer
[This poem can be read almost every new year's eve, and something new, relevant to the moment and interesting successfully can be found
not least of which is another occasion on which to look up the definition of the word "psychopompos."]