Here begins my delirious self-criticism (all self-criticism is delirious, the worst form of the critical spirit being that which claims to be directed against itself). Nonetheless, I accuse myself of

having systematically opposed the most obvious and well-founded notions, in the hope that they would fall into the trap of this radicalism, which has not occurred | having dreamt of a different world which — whether women or concepts — would have been that of a sacred form of prostitution | having subtly drawn my energy from the energy of others according to a mental law of derivation | having cultivated a twilight zone of thought the more effectively to disguise the difference between night and day | never having been tempted to throw everything away, but merely obsessed by a sense of frustration and of having sublimated all cowardice in theoretical radicalism | having sinned by omission of references | AMEN | Of being profoundly carnal and melancholy | Of having withdrawn from things to the extent that any judgement I make is merely the word of a phantom | But where are the blinding insights of yesteryear? Around me I see nothing but groundless hysteria and unscrupulous vitality | AMEN | archive.org | October 1980