it doesn't matter at all if it exists and if there was a god or several gods
working day and night to build it because if it hurts it is
wrong, that the body that lies under the weeds or scattered
in ashes has become accustomed to death does not remove a
gram of error: death is wrong, loneliness without
rainy or sunny days is a mistake, a demonic algebra loaded with disruptions that works for scandal and that
nevertheless is there, exists, but we have already made it very clear that
existence does not save error, the mistake, from being what it is: something
that does wrong. and suited men may come to explain to us in
luxurious detail the yin and the yang and the spinning wheel of all the saints and
one must stand firm and shake one's head, because it does not matter a radish if it exists, everything,
everything that hurts is wrong.