Love Is When You Suddenly Wake Up

She Alone Dares And Wishes To Know From Within, Where She, The Outcast, Has Never Ceased To Hear The Resonance Of Fore Language. She Lets The Other Language Speak - The Language Of 1,000 Tongues Which Knows Neither Enclosure Nor Death. To Life She Refuses Nothing. Her Language Does Not Contain, It Carries; It Does Not Hold Back; It Makes Possible.

Writing Is The Passageway, The Entrance, The Exit, The Dwelling Place Of The Other In Me.

We Must Learn To Speak The Language Women Speak When There Is No One There To Correct Us.

Me Too, I Make Do, I Anoint What Cannot Be Fixed.

Women Must Write Through Their Bodies, They Must Invent The Impregnable Language That Will Wreck Partitions, Classes, And Rhetorics, Regulations And Codes, They Must Submerge, Cut Through, Get Beyond The Ultimate Reverse-discourse, Including The One That Laughs At The Very Idea Of Pronouncing The Word "silence"...in One Another We Will Never Be Lacking.