I do know that
space, time, dimension,
becoming, future, destiny,
being, non-being, self, non-self,
are nothing to me;
but there is a thing
which is something,

only one thing
which is something,
and which I feel
because it wants
to get out:

the presence
of my bodily
suffering,

the menacing,
never tiring
presence
of my
body.

— Antonin Artaud 

(Source: poeticsofdeath, via ratak-monodosico)