artaud-bare-earth

I prefer the people who eat off the bare earth the delirium from which they were born.

Thought:

“

There was a scent like honeycomb
From mugwort dull. And down upon the dome
Of the stone the cart-horse kicks against so oft
A butterfly alighted. From aloft
He took the heat of the sun, and from below.

“

Edward Thomas | “The Brook”

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