I Write And That Way Rid Myself

I Work Only With Lost And Founds.

Putting My Hand In Someone Else’s Has Always Been My Definition Of Happiness. Before I Fall Asleep, Often - In That Small Struggle Not To Lose Consciousness And Go Into The Greater World - Often, Before I Get Up The Courage To Go Into The Vastness Of Sleep, I Pretend That Someone Has My Hand In Theirs, And Then I Go, Go To That Enormous Absence Of Form That Is Sleep. And When Even After That I Don’t Have Courage, I Dream.

A Horse Is Freedom So Indominable That It Becomes Useless To Imprison It To Serve Man: It Lets Itself Be Domesticated, But With A Simple, Rebellious Toss Of The Head-shaking Its Mane Like An Abundance Of Free-flowing Hair-it Shows That Its Inner Nature Is Always Wild, Translucent And Free.

It Is Because I Dove Into The Abyss That I Am Beginning To Love The Abyss I Am Made Of.

What I Want Is To Live Of That Initial And Primordial Something That Was What Made Some Things Reach The Point Of Aspiring To Be Human.