Ash, ash —- You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—— A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

I suppose I'll always be over-vulnerable, slightly paranoid.

The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.

If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.