You Are What You Are And That

People Come To Paris, To The Capital, To Give Their Lives A Sense Of Belonging, Of An Almost Mythical Participation In Society.

I Am Dead. I Have No Desire For You. My Body No Longer Wants The One Who Doesn’t Love.

There Are Many Women Who Write As They Think They Should Write - To Imitate Men And Make A Place For Themselves In Literature.

Heterosexuality Is Dangerous. It Tempts You To Aim At A Perfect Duality Of Desire.

All That Remains Of That Minute Is Time In All Its Purity, Bone-white Time.