It Is Very Hard To Trace The

I Write Anywhere - When I Have An Idea It’s Hard Not To Write. I Used To Be Kind Of Precious About Where I Wrote. Everything Had To Be Quiet And I Couldn’t Be Disturbed, It Really Filled My Day.

I Am A Trembling Mess From Hip To Knee. There Is A Terrible Heat, A Looseness In My Innards That Makes Me Want To Dig My Fists Between My Thighs. It Is A Confusing Feeling - Somewhere Between Diarrhoea And Sex - This Grief That Is Almost Genital.

We Have Lost The Art Of Public Tenderness, These Small Gestures Of Wiping And Washing; We Have Forgotten How Abjectly The Body Welcomes A Formal Touch.

There Are Little Thoughts In Your Head That Can Grow Until They Eat Your Entire Mind. Just Tiny Little Thoughts--they Are Like A Cancer, There Is No Telling What Triggers The Spread, Or Who Will Be Struck, And Why Some Get It And Others Are Spared.

In More Static Societies, Like Ireland, You Can Tell Where A Person Is From By Their Surname, Or Where Their Grandparents Are From.