Pretty Things Will Swarm You Like That,

Women Who Pay Their Own Rent Don't Have To Be Nice.

I Remember, In Hot Floods, The Way He Slept, Still As Death, With His Face Washed Flat, Stony As A Carved Tomb And Exquisite. His Weakness And His Ravening Bitter Needs Were Terrible, And Beautiful, And Irresistible As An Earthquake. He Scalded Or Smothered Anyone He Needed, But His Needing And The Hurt That It Caused Me Were The Most Life I Have Ever Had. Remember What A Poor Thing I Have Always Been And Forgive Me.

This Idea That Males Are Physically Aggressive And Females Are Not Has Distinct Drawbacks For Both Sexes.

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.

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.