My Paintings Are Reflections Of My Own

But The Idea That Women Can't Take Care Of Themselves Still Permeates Our Culture.

A Carnival In Daylight Is An Unfinished Beast, Anyway. Rain Makes It A Ghost. The Wheezing Music From The Empty, Motionless Rides In A Soggy, Rained-out Afternoon Midway Always Hit My Chest With A Sweet Ache. The Colored Dance Of Lights In The Seeping Air Flashed The Puddles In The Sawdust With An Oily Glamour.

Let's Just Say, The American School Of Suburban Angst Is Not My Cup Of Tea.

What I Think Happens, And That You Have To Acknowledge Though, Is That A Director Uses A Book As A Launching Pad For His Own Work And That's Always Very Flattering.

Beside Mama, In My Own Folding Chair, With My Feet Sticking Out In Front Of Me, I Thought About My Own Innards. Just A Few Months Before I'd Had No Idea Whether My Reproductive Equipment Worked. There Was No Evidence. But That Week I Had Become A Full-fledged Bleeder And Was Still Absorbed By This First Change In Myself That I Had Ever Noticed. The Click And Buzz Of My Synapses Kept Making The Same Connection. If You Can Change, You Can Also End. Death Had Always Been A Theory To Me. Now I Knew. The Terror Hurt Good And I Nursed It And Played It Like A Loose Tooth.