J'essayerai de répondre en anglais...
M. Roger Morris,
Sorry for the delay in response, but mirrors should reflect a little before throwing back images.
One must be a living man and a posthumous artist.
I have a piece of great and sad news to tell you: I am dead.
Living or dead, an original artist is unable to copy. So he has only to copy in order to be original, but an artist cannot speak about his art any more than a plant can discuss horticulture, therefore I am a lie who always speaks the truth.
You ask of motivation.
Man seeks to escape himself in myth, and does so by any means at his disposal. Drugs, alcohol, or lies. Unable to withdraw into himself, he disguises himself. Lies and inaccuracy give him a few moments of comfort.
I am here because I court mystery. Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods. We have ours, they have theirs. That is what's known as infinity.
MySpace is like this infinity, like the underworld, dreamlike, in that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.
Again, A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses. Simply take a commonplace, clean it and polish it, light it so that it produces the same effect of youth and freshness and originality and spontaneity as it did originally, and you have done a poet's job. The rest is literature.
Les voeux les meilleurs,