What ho! What ho! What ho!

Antonin Artaud was a sick little Frenchman- physically and mentally. but then there is no doubt about this any way, everyone knows that. the guy spent World War II in a mental asylum, for god's sake, while the likes of James Joyce were writing Ulessys (arguably also rather psychotic, which leads me to wonder if all of this had something to do with the times).
So the million-dollar-question is; Why 'am we' being subjected to the inner workings of his mind?! And how healthy is it to be forcing ourselves to draw some sense out of his heroin induced, Dali-painting thoughts, which in the end, just amount to a load of banality apparently?
Elest has a natural inclination towards insanity, she doesn't need stuff like this to push her off the edge. And, Most importantly, she doesn't want to be a foul-mouthed cheese eating knight (I never swear!), she wants to be a Unicorn...and she will tell John Stokes thus :)

Now visualise a half empty seminar class of bleary eyed studnets, monotonously reading out utterly uninteligible lines, with a measure of shock and embarrasment in their voices, as Elest skipps about the room neighing and doing unicorn stuff- experimental theatre style. Stokes will be so proud, Elest will get a first, and Artaud will make sumersaults and cartwheels of sheer joy in his grave, because he has succeeded.

We are all mad, and we expect to be taken seriously.