作词 : Antonin Artaud
 作曲 : Soundwalk Collective
Insane asylums are conscious and premeditated receptacles of black magic,
and it is not only that doctors encourage magic with their inopportune and hybrid therapies,
it is how they use it.
If there had been no doctors
there would never have been patients,
no skeletons of the diseased
dead to butcher and flay,
for it is through doctors and not through patients that society began.
Those who live, live off the dead.
And it is likewise necessary that death live;
and there is nothing like an insane asylum for gently incubating death,
and for keeping the dead in incubators.
It began 4000 years before Jesus christ this therapy of slow death,
and modern medicine,
an accomplice in this of the most sinister and crapulous magic,
subjects its dead to electroshock or to insulin therapy so as daily
to throughly empty its stud farms of men of their egos,
empty its stud farms of men,
empty them of their egos,
and to expose them thus empty,
thus fantastically available and empty,
to the obscene anatomical and atomic solicitations
to the obscene anatomical and atomic solicitations
to the state called Bardo, delivery of the full kit for living to the demands of the non-ego.
Bardo is the death throes in which the ego falls in a puddle,
and there is in electroshock a puddle state
through which everyone traumatized passes,
and which causes him, no longer at this moment to know,
but to dreadfully and desperately misjudge what he was, when he was himself,
his own elf, his fief, wife, life, tripe, damnit and THAT.
I went through it and I won't forget it.
The magic of electroshock drains a death rattle,
it plunges the shocked into that rattle with which we leave life.
But, the electroshock of Bardo were never an experiment,
and to death rattle in the electroshock of Bardo,
as in the Bardo of electroshock,
is to mangle an experiment sucked by the larvae of the non-ego,
and that man will not recapture.
In the midst of this palpitation and this respiration of all the others who
besiege the one who, as the Mexicans say,
scraping to broach the bark with his grater,
flows lawlessly from all sides.
Bribed medicine lies each time that it presents a patient cured by the
electrical introspections of its method,
as for me, I've seen only those who have been terrorized by the method,
incapable of recovering their egos.
Who has gone through the electroshock of Bardom and the Bardo of
electroshock, never climbs up again from its tenebrae,
and life has slipped a notch.
I've known there these moleculations breath upon breath of the death
rattle of authentically agonizing people.
What the Tarahumaras of Mexico call the spittle of the grater,
the cinder of toothless coal.
Loss of a slap of the first euphoria that you had one day feeling yourself
alive, swallowing and chewing.
It is thus that electroshock like Bardo creates larvae,
it turns all the patient's pulverized states,
all the facts of his past into larvae which
are unusable in the present yet which never cease beseiging the present.
Now, I repeat, Bardo is death,
and death is only a state of black magic which did not exist not so long ago.
To thus create death artificially as present-day medicine attempts to do
is to encourage a reflux of the nothingness which has never been to
anyone's benefit,
but off which certain predestined human profiteers have been eating
their fill for a long time.
Actually, since a certain point in time.
Which one?
That pint when it was necessary to choose between renouncing being
a man and becoming an obvious madman.
But what guarantee to do the obvious madmen of this world have of being
nursed by the authentically living?
what guarantee to do the obvious madmen of this world have of being
nursed by the authentically living?
the authentically living?
the authentically living?
the authentically living?
farfadi
ta azor
tau ela
auela
a
tara
ila