Writing itself does not know what it looks like while one is doing it, only when it's finished.
In this county, we had to walk, eat, sleep and love in fear.
Language is so different from life. How am I supposed to fit the one into the other? How can I bring them together?
To combat death you don't need much of a life, just one that isn't yet finished.
Once upon a time they had some bad luck, and they blame everything on that.
I have always written only for myself - to clarify things, to clarify things with myself, to understand in an inner way what is actually happening.