Other-love Is Writing's First Name.

What Happens: Events Interiors, Snatch Them From The Cradle, From The Source. I Want To Watch Watching Arrive. I Want To Watch Arrivances. I Want To Find The Root Of Needing To Eat. And Taste It: Work Of Sweat / Sleep.

The Only Book That Is Worth Writing Is The One We Don’t Have The Courage Or Strength To Write. The Book That Hurts Us (we Who Are Writing), That Makes Us Tremble, Redden, Bleed

When I Write, It's Everything That We Don't Know We Can Be That Is Written Out Of Me, Without Exclusions, Without Stipulation, And Everything We Will Be Calls Us To The Unflagging, Intoxicating, Unappeasable Search For Love. In One Another We Will Never Be Lacking.

In The Synagogue Of My Heart... I Myself Jail And The Jailed, I Go Wounded, Bite-marked

Everything Ends With Flowers.