The author of these Notebooks once claimed that "the few genuine truths are dark and terrible". He has made it his mission to chronicle them, or simply repeat them over and over again, as they are so few, and he has persisted in breathing much longer than is required to articulate them in their indescribable nudity. His expression is an erotica of truth, not the pornography that so often passes for philosophy. It still musters a freezing passion—though for what, it can never quite say. Yet it hasn't the courage to be outright poetry. It does not wish to land softly at the edge of the senses. It is profoundly disturbed (you will read 'sick') in its soul. You will find it easily accepting of any verdict or diagnosis you may proffer.

This should make you suspicious.

It does not pretend to have your interests in mind, and, more strangely, none of its own it would care to defend. Nor does it assume a conspiracy of interests operating under the sign of a possessive plural. It aspires to a music consisting of "the cries of ghosts of birds from a lower hell" than any of your imagining. You may still click the hell out of here and proceed with your life—the indecorous biscuit of your existence—or....

Copyright © 1998 Bianco Luno and Victor Muñoz