I stayed under the moon too long.I am silvered with lust.Dreams flick like minnows through my eyes.My voice is trees tossing in the wind.I loose myself like a flock of blackbirdsstorming into your face.My lightest touch leaves blue prints,bruises on your mind.Desire sandpapers your skinso thin I read the veins and arteriesmaps of routes I will traveltill I lodge in your spine.The night is our fur.We curl inside it licking.

Obviously I find women more interesting than men to write about.

Never doubt that you can change history. You already have.

The incidence of violent brand-loyalty to one's own current dogma has risen.

Like species, couples die out or evolve.

We live in a media soup and are constantly being programmed or are fighting that programming. Thus any truthful account of a life, every part of a life, is about society as well as an individual.

Where I came from, the nights I had wandered and survived scared them, and where I would go they never imagined.