Tamed as it may be, sexuality remains one of the demonic forces in human consciousness - pushing us at intervals close to taboo and dangerous desires, which range from the impulse to commit sudden arbitrary violence upon another person to the voluptuous yearning for the extinction of one's consciousness, for death itself. Even on the level of simple physical sensation and mood, making love surely resembles having an epileptic fit at least as much as, if not more than, it does eating a meal or conversing with someone.

To the militant, identity is everything.

I'm more cautious about what I write.

Cancer is a demonic pregnancy.

Writing is finally a series of permissions you give yourself to be expressive in certain ways. To leap. To fly. To fail.

Interpretation is the revenge of the intellectual upon art.

Photographers are always imposing