it's doors I'm afraid of because I can't see through them, its the door opening by itself in the wind I'm afraid of.

In the early fight for women's rights, the point was not that women were morally superior or better. The conversation was about the difference between men and women - power, privilege, voting rights, etc. Unfortunately, it quickly moved to the "women are better" argument. If this were true in life or in fiction, we wouldn't have any dark or deep characters. We wouldn't have any Salomes, Carmens, Ophelias. We wouldn't have any jealousy or passion.

I stand on the corner, pretending I am a tree.

A hot wind was blowing around my head, the strands of my hair lifting and swirling in it, like ink spilled in water.

I'm a refugee from the past, and like other refugees I go over the customs and habits of being I've left or been forced to leave behind me, and it all seems just as quaint, from here, and I am just as obsessive about it.

It isn't running away they're afraid of. We wouldn't get far. It's those other escapes, the ones you can open in yourself, given a cutting edge.

For the children with their greedy little mouths represent the future, which like time itself will devour all now alive.