Freedom, I Found Is Not

If, As I Suspect, My Body Survives By Uttering Itself Over And Over Again, Then I Have Some Questions. If [i] Am One Word, So Are My Daughters, So Are All Of Us In Strings And Loops. Each Life Is One Short Word Slowly Uttered.

Now I'm Sixty-one... Sixty-two, Pretty Soon. It's A Really Interesting Age. Now We Have Women Of Your Age, And Coming Up, And All These Fantastic Writers, Who Have Managed To Have Their Children But Continue With Their Art, Their Work. I Think Women Are Doing The Most Interesting Writing Right Now, The Most Interesting Art. I See Everything Through This Lens, Of Women Finally Taking Their Place In The World. Their True Place. And It's Very, Very Exciting To Me.

...which Causes Me To Wonder, My Own Purpose On So Many Days As Humble As The Spider's, What Is Beautiful That I Make? What Is Elegant? What Feeds The World?

Hunger Steals The Memory

He Despised His Body For Its Boring Hungers, Reflex Anger; Its Petty, Obliterating Rage. But Now He'd Become Detached. He Regarded His Body With A Tender Regret. It Was The Thing His Spirit Had To Haul.