Love Is When You Suddenly

And I Was Afraid. She Frightens Me Because She Can Knock Me Down With A Word. Because She Does Not Know That Writing Is Walking On A Dizzying Silence Setting One Word After The Other On Emptiness. Writing Is Miraculous And Terrifying Like The Flight Of A Bird Who Has No Wings But Flings Itself Out And Only Gets Wings By Flying.

What Happens: Events Interiors, Snatch Them From The Cradle, From The Source. I Want To Watch Watching Arrive. I Want To Watch Arrivances. I Want To Find The Root Of Needing To Eat. And Taste It: Work Of Sweat / Sleep.

By Writing Her Self, Woman Will Return To The Body Which Has Been More Than Confiscated From Her, Which Has Been Turned Into The Uncanny Stranger On Display - The Ailing Or Dead Figure, Which So Often Turns Out To Be The Nasty Companion, The Cause And Location Of Inhibitions. Censor The Body And You Censor Breath And Speech At The Same Time. Write Your Self. Your Body Must Be Heard. Only Then Will The Immense Resources Of The Unconscious Spring Forth.

The Only Book That Is Worth Writing Is The One We Don’t Have The Courage Or Strength To Write. The Book That Hurts Us (we Who Are Writing), That Makes Us Tremble, Redden, Bleed

I Am Sick Of Death And Worst Of All This Sickness Feeds On Itself, The More Afraid I Am The More I Am Afraid The More I Flee The More I Am Afraid The More I Am Haunted.