I Write To Save Someone's Life, Probably

Do Not Mourn The Dead. They Know What They Are Doing.

And I Want To Be Held Down. I Don't Know What To Do With The Horrifying Freedom That Can Destroy Me.

For Only When I Err Do I Get Away From What I Know And What I Understand. If "truth" Were What I Can Understand, It Would End Up Being But A Small Truth, My-sized. Truth Must Reside Precisely In What I Shall Never Understand.

Whether She Won Or Lost, She Would Continue To Wrestle With Life. It Would Not Be With Her Own Life Alone But With All Of Life. Something Had Finally Been Released Within Her. And There It Was, The Sea.

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.