the images and

emotions of the real. For there is in consciousness a Magic with which one can go beyond things. And Peyote tells us where this Magic is, and after what strange concretions, whose breath is atavistically compressed and obstructed, the Fantastic can emerge and can once again scatter in our consciousness its phosphorescence and its haze. And this Fantastic is of noble quality, its disorder is only apparent

, it really obeys an order that is fashioned mysteriously and on a level which normal consciousness does not reach but which Ciguri allows us to reach, and which is the very mystery of all poetry. But there is in human existence another level, obscure and formless, where consciousness has not entered, and which surrounds it like a mysterious extension or a menace, as the case may be. And which itself gives off adventurous sensations, perceptions. These are those shameless fantasies which affect an unhealthy mind, which abandons itself to them and dissolves in them co