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Sunday, September 16th, 2007
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1:02 am
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To be without the slightest subject for a book, is to find yourself, once again, before a book. a vast emptiness. a possible book. before something like living, naked writing, like something terrible, terrible to overcome.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, March 21st, 2005
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6:35 pm
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The teacher had the Truth, and I wanted some.
Like francenscence, I burned. I became less liberal in my words. I bowed.
I plainstyled, I blended perfume and sweat, I nodded, agreed, walked, weaved, and sat.
Against all of my past deifications, I began to hot flash. This is but
a memory in the making, I thought. Teacher to student, man to star.
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