I Am Nervous About Dogmas

She Knows Herself To Be At The Mercy Of Events, And She Knows By Now That Events Have No Mercy.

All You Have To Do, I Tell Myself, Is Keep Your Mouth Shut And Look Stupid. It Shouldn't Be That Hard.

They Will Not Let You Have Peace, They Don't Want You To Have Anything They Don't Have Themselves.

I Sink Down Into My Body As Into A Swamp, Fenland, Where Only I Know The Footing…. I’m A Cloud, Congealed Around A Central Object, The Shape Of A Pear, Which Is Hard And More Real Than I Am And Glows Red Within Its Translucent Wrapping. Inside It Is A Space, Huge As The Sky At Night And Dark And Curved Like That, Though Black-red Rather Than Black.

I Would Rather Dance As A Ballerina, Though Faultily, Than As A Flawless Clown.