Without commanding you, I ask you to love those who are close to you more than ever. The world is a sad
shop, pure hearts must come together to beautify it, the human soul must be reforested. I will remain on
deck, I will remain a gardener, I will cultivate my language plants. Through my words, you will find my
beloved; the only truth is friendship and love. I am now very far at the bottom of the basket of sadness. We
each have to eat, they say, a bag of coal to go to paradise. Ah! How I wish there was a paradise,
how sweet the reunion would be. In the meantime, to you, my friends here below, faced with what is happening to me,
I take the liberty, I who am only a histrion, a plank beater, an actor who dreams
with the wind, I take the liberty of writing to you to tell you what I’m thinking today hui: I think with all
my strength that it is necessary to love each other wrongly and through.
Julos Beaucarne – night of February 2 to 3, 1975 – Written after the murder of his wife by their gardener.