Here form is content, content is form. It should not be read, or rather it is not just to be read. It is to be watched and heard. His texts are not about something; they are that something. When the meaning is the dream, the words go to sleep. There is one point that must be made clear: the beauty of the work in progress is not only presented in space, since its adequate apprehension depends as much on its visibility as on its audibility. This text is an extract par excellence of language, painting and gestures, with all the inevitable clarity of the old articulation. Here appears the wild economy of the hieroglyph. The words are no longer the kind contortions of the ink of the printer of the 20th century. They are alive. They push their way toward the page, and they glow, burn and die.