Antonin Artaud

The young man held a gun to the head of God
Stick this holy cow
put the audience in action
let the slaughtered take a bow

The old man's words, white hot knives
slicing through warm butter
the butter is the heart
the rancid pealing soul

Scratch pictures on asylum walls
broken nails and matchsticks
hypodermic hypodermic hypodermic
RED FIX

On mans poison another mans meat
one mans agony another mans treat
Artaud living with his neck placed
firmly in the noose
eyes black with pain
limbs in cramps, contorted
the theatre and its double
the void and the aborted



Ingrate goes