Pain Is The World. I Don't Have

I Have Become Interested In Languages Which I Cannot Make Up, Which I Cannot Create Or Even Create In: I Have Become Interested In Languages Which I Can Only Come Up Upon (as I Disappear), A Pirate Upon Buried Treasure. The Dreamer, The Dreaming, The Dream. I Call These Languages, Languages Of The Body.

Even A Woman Who Has The Soul Of A Pirate, At Least Pirate Morals, Even A Woman Who Prefer Loneliness To The Bickerings And Constraints Of Heterosexual Marriage, Even Such A Woman Who Is A Freak In Our Society Needs A Home... The Only Characteristic Freaks Share Is Our Knowledge That We Don't Fit In.

And I'm Working At Trying To Find A Kind Of Language Where I Won't Be So Easily Modulated By Expectation.

Perhaps If Human Desire Is Said Out Loud, The Urban Planes, The Prisons, The Architectural Mirrors Will Take Off, As Airplanes Do. The Black Planes Will Take Off Into The Night Air And The Night Winds, Sliding Past And Behind Each Other, Zooming, Turning And Turning In The Redness Of The Winds, Living, Never To Return.

You Create Identity, You're Not Given Identity Per Se. What Became More And More Interesting To Me Wasn't The I, It Was Text Because It's Text That Create Identity. That's How I Got Interested In Plagiarism.