[To be an artist,] this desire to conquer all with images.

As a child I was a great liar. Fortunately my mother liked my lies. I promised her marvelous things.

...I remain restless and dissatisfied; what I knot with my right hand, I undo with my left, what my left hand creates, my right fist shatters

Translation is that which transforms everything so that nothing changes.

Information networks straddle the world. Nothing remains concealed. But the sheer volume of information dissolves the information. We are unable to take it all in.

In general, I agree with Jacob Grimm and feel that we ought to permit changes and uncontrolled growth in language. Even though that also allows potentially threatening new words to develop, language needs the chance to constantly renew itself.

When the young woman leans over the sky, about to water the flowers as well as the weeds, her white front splits open until her milk runs.