One of the principal elements of infinity is its negation of form. Absolute becoming, infinity destroys anything that is formed, crystallized, or finished. Isn't music the art which best expresses infinity because it dissolves all forms into a charmingly ineffable fluidity? Form always tends to complete what is fragmentary and, by individualizing its contents, to eliminate the perspective of the universal and the infinite; thus it exists only to remove the content of life from chaos and anarchy. Forms are illusory and, beyond their evanescence, true reality reveals itself as an intense pulsation. The penchant for form comes from love of finitude, the seduction of boundaries which will never engender metaphysical revelations. Metaphysics, like music, springs from the experience of infinity. They both grow on heights and cause vertigo. I have always wondered why those who have produced masterpieces in these domains have not all gone mad. Music more than any other art requires so much concentration that one could easily, after creative moments, lose one's mind. All great composers ought to either commit suicide or become insane at the height of their creative powers. Are not all those aspiring to infinity on the road to madness? Normality, abnormality, are notions that no longer mean anything. Let us live in the ecstasy of infinity, let us love that which is boundless, let us destroy forms and institute the only cult without forms: the cult of infinity.
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