You Know I've Had Work Banned.

Writing Must Be A Machine For Breaking Down, That Is, Allowing The Now Uncontrolled And Uncontrollable Reconstitutions Of Thoughts And Expressions. All Other Kinds Of Writing Simply Express.

Pain Is The World. I Don't Have Anywhere To Run.

I Have Become Interested In Languages Which I Cannot Make Up, Which I Cannot Create Or Even Create In: I Have Become Interested In Languages Which I Can Only Come Up Upon (as I Disappear), A Pirate Upon Buried Treasure. The Dreamer, The Dreaming, The Dream. I Call These Languages, Languages Of The Body.

Death Is Another Bar Which Lies Several Steps Below The Normal World. I'm At Its Threshold, But Not Yet In It. Its Doorway Is Doorless.

We Come Crawling Through These Cracks, Orphans, Lobotomies; If You Ask Me What I Want, I'll Tell You. I Want Everything. Whole Rotten World Come Down And Break. Let Me Spread My Legs.