I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

I woke to the sound of rain.

When I fell out of the light, I entered The stomach of indifference, the wordless cupboard.

I felt myself melting into the shadows like the negative of a person I'd never seen before in my life.

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.

I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.

You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.