I write to save someone's life, probably my own

Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

I work only with lost and founds.

What I want is to live of that initial and primordial something that was what made some things reach the point of aspiring to be human.

I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.

I ask myself: is every story that has ever been written in this world, a story of suffering and affliction?

Reality prior to my language exists as an unthinkable thought. . . . life precedes love, bodily matter precedes the body, and one day in its turn language shall have preceded possession of silence.