Explore the idea of what the language that women speak would really be like if no one were there to correct them.

in the synagogue of my heart... I myself jail and the jailed, I go wounded, bite-marked

Love is when you suddenly wake up as a cannibal, and not just any old cannibal, or else wake up destined for devourment.

Everything ends with flowers.

Me too, I make do, I anoint what cannot be fixed.

What happens: events interiors, snatch them from the cradle, from the source. I want to watch watching arrive. I want to watch arrivances. I want to find the root of needing to eat. And taste it: work of sweat / sleep.

I am not innocent. Innocence is a science of the sublime. And I am only at the very beginning of the apprenticeship.