Then comes a moment when suddenly I can't handle the language anymore, like I can't read one more translation of ''The Divine Comedy,'' and suddenly I realize it's in my eyes all the time, that I have a vision of Hell, I have even more necessary kind of a way of getting out of Hell, kind of a springboard in my thinking, closing my eyes and thinking what I'm seeing () and also purgation, that I can go through the stages of purging the self, of trying to become pure, free of these ghastly visions, and then there is something that's as close to Heaven as I would hope to aspire to, which I call "existence is song." And that all of that was in my eyes all the time, backfiring all these years () It's lovely that I can have the language, but I also have a visual corollary of it, but that is a story.〔

I made ''Hell Itself'' during the breakup with Jane () and the collapse of my whole life, so I got to know quite well the streaming of the hypnagogic that’s hellish. Now the body can not only feed back its sense of being in hell but also its getting out of hell, and ''Hell Spit Flexion'' shows the way out – it’s there as crowbar to lift one out of hell toward the transformatory state – purgatory. And finally there’s a fourth state that’s fleeting. I’ve called the last part ''existence is song'' quoting Rilke, because I don’t want to presume upon the after-life and call it “Heaven.”〔