What do you think?
Rate this book


292 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1919
Self-consciousness, the infant in me, opened its eyes wide, and broke everything – before that first flash of consciousness; broken is the ice: of words, concepts, and meanings; a multiplicity of rational truths grew out and was seized by rhythms; the architectonic of rhythms had been given meaning and it shook off like dud leaves the meanings I used to have for them; meaning is life: my life; life is in the rhythm of the years: in gesticulation, in the mimicry of events flying by; the word is mimicry, a dance, a smile.
My first conscious moment is – a dot; it penetrates the meaninglessness; and – expanding, it becomes a sphere, but the sphere – flies apart: the meaninglessness, penetrating it, tears it apart…
Flocks of soapy spheres fly out of a light straw… A sphere would fly out, tremble, play out with sparkle; and – burst; a tiny drop of viscous fluid, puffed up by the air, would begin to play with the lights of the world… Nothing, something, and again nothing; once again something; all is in me, I am in all… Such are my first moments…