From your response it appears that I have not made myself clear as to the incredible pressure that exerts itself on the top of my skull at every moment. Let me describe it. If you could imagine a 20,000 kilogram block of concrete, held together by barbed wire, with some of the barbs protruding from the block, rusted to a delicious blood-red, and suppose you were to imagine that block of cement resting on top of your (I imagine quite soft) cranium, you would begin to have a glimpse of the agony that is constantly mine. Have you any idea of the effort it takes for a thought, any kind of a thought, to escape the pressure weighing down on me?

It is superhuman.

I wrestle with stones larger than continents, sir, and I do so everyday. These are not stones made of foam, cotton or wool...nor of paper mache. They are made by an evil God from the heaviest stuff of the universe - light. The mere friction produced by moving that light, even by a fraction of a degree, would be enough to produce a thousand of your so-called blockbusters. Those sparks, when they occur, when they are willed into being by me, contain the most profound images, sensations, ideas, heavens, hells. As such they comprise the special presence which my person exudes, a presence whose palpability manifests itself in every frame of every film in which I have appeared. Did I mention, sir, that I am an actor? I will not go into details of which you must be aware. To the point, I am not suggesting you cast me in the role of the warlock, the overseer, or the creator of the Kabbala in your next film.

I am demanding it.

To wit, I am prepared to use every means at my disposal to see that this happens, up to and including your death. If you have not contemplated the space of that death, good sir, I suggest you begin at once to do so.

I await your reply,

A. Artaud