Today at school I wrote an essay about Flag Day which was so beautiful, but ever so beautiful - for I even used words without really knowing what they meant.

The only truth is that I live. Sincerely, I live. Who am I? Well, that's a bit much.

No it is not easy to write. It is as hard as breaking rocks. Sparks and splinters fly like shattered steel.

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.

The world's continual breathing is what we hear and call silence.

For one has the right to shout. So, I am shouting.

In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.