Who am I?
Varied identities: king by first names, warrior on a platter, poet a little every day. Black, slave anar, brown nigger. Bi, even gay when I get there.
We form a system where everything is amalgamated and where nothing rubs shoulders, where reproduction and women, disability and childhood, weakness and homosexuality are assimilated.
To decry sexual exhibition is to deny the reality of coitus, the most banal of our realities, in favour of an illusion of self, the mother of all violence.
Work isn't interesting. It's being inspired that is. To be inspired is to be called to something more challenging than what was intended.
There's a wolf waiting for me at the end of the highway. Pay up carnivorous age. Doesn't mean I took a wrong turn.
Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?
Attempted social evasion | There's no room for social chatter here. Not even on a good morning. And that's just as well.
Time veils backwards, throws a theatrical tulle over the detailed vision of ancient crimes. The tragic beauty of history is more congenial than the impending horror.
I'm testifying from where I am. As a good archaeologist, I create my own ruin. The loneliness of the fields of childhood is not the same as the loneliness of the fields of adulthood.
I am a plant, an animal, an asteroid or a living room bench... I am whatever my imagination can make of me.
