Inner knowledge!

Marie Rennard est divine! Voici la traduction qu'elle a faite de mon poème ci-dessus: "la connaissance intime!" C'est pas de la tarte à traduire et elle a fait ça d'une façon exquise, fidèle et tout! Merci!

Thus, inner knowledge calmly weights on despair. Lazing despair one has to knife-cut, into thick slices, and it hurts teeth… conjoined slices, like those of gingerbread – the yellow one – married slices one sometimes has to tear apart, wrecking the gluing heart.

Some think it is enough with drinking, but this ritual’s vain, alcohol becomes just like a burped fruitless work. Living and loving might be enough. Nobody ever says love is so expensive. If you knew how much I am fed up with this!

Inner knowledge was I writing before I became blue fed up. Ho yes, I wanted to write about despair stretching, as schmuck as a fat cat.

Smelling old fish the same when having just spilled the garbage, bastard, to eat an old fouling herring. Cause that’s the only thing he likes, cause this can stuff, it’s just cat’s piss. Edible one although, for cats, I mean.

Some cats, however love eating gingerbread. Who cares?

Inner knowledge was I writing before getting fed up… truly, I’m so fed up. So I will keep silent ! Inner knowledge! Is that a way ? I’m so truly fed up, so much truly. Better to keep silent. I won’t get out of it. Fucking hell.