Spasm—it is a chasm.
And every body is a lacerated body.

(Spasmodic) experience which is a trial, is to unfold, and is to be crushed. It is also to be on the edge of separation and snapping apart. First comes a fissure. The fissure must be the starting point.

It is as if it were an unexpected constellation. Spasm is the advent of my inner star which can never be reached. It is a sudden but meaningless explosion.

The body may try to touch it again and again. And the body will spasmodically try to touch “it”: that which is distant, immediate, ephemeral, and momentary.

Spasm digresses. It is a deviation. It does not exist anywhere.

It is impossible to catch and possess the zero degree of the sense of pain, the zero degree of the sense of touch and sight.

“It” as the hidden form is a laceration, which comes from the outer part of the depth of the body.