I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.

I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.

I have this demon who wants me to run away screaming if I am going to be flawed, fallible. It wants me to think I'm so good I must be perfect. Or nothing. I am, on the contrary, something: a being who gets tired, has shyness to fight, has more trouble than most facing people easily.

I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me.

What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.

Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream