May your mother forsake you.
May a thousand butterflies fall upon your head,
may you choke on fine dust.
May life be a river, may the river be as a serpent slithering on it’s belly. May the heel weigh heavy.
And then shall all pavement stretch endlessly before you, that you should live forever walking alone in the dark, in restless thought.
And may you dine on these thoughts at your table every night.
May beauty burn you to pieces.
May it burn until you know true beauty, and its sting.
"The imagination, intoxicated by prohibitions, risens to drunken heights to destroy the world. Let it rage, let it kill. The imagination is supreme. To it all our works forever, from the remotest past to the farthest future, have been, are and will be dedicated." - William Carlos Williams