I Speak As I Must

The Process Of Writing Is A Little Like Madness, A Kind Of Possession Not Altogether Benign.

All Those Moments, Those Memories. Everything That We Are, Compressed In Just Two Or Three Kilos Of Paper — The Weight Of A Human Heart.

Life Is What You Celebrate. All Of It. Even Its End.

In My Dreams I Gorge On Chocolates, I Roll In Chocolates, And Their Texture Is Not Brittle But Soft As Flesh, Like A Thousand Mouths On My Body, Devouring Me In Fluttering Small Bites. To Die Beneath Their Tender Gluttony Seems The Culmination Of Every Temptation I Have Ever Known.

I Have A Tendency To Pick Up My Own Challenges. The More Difficult Something It Is, The More I Want To Try It.