As A Writer, One Is Busy With

What Is Interesting And Important Happens Mostly In Secret, In Places Where There Is No Power.

As A Writer, One Is Busy With Archaeology.

Don't We Forgive Everything Of A Lover? We Forgive Selfishness, Desire, Guile. As Long As We Are The Motive For It...there Are Some European Words You Can Never Translate Properly Into Another Language.

In The Desert The Most Loved Waters, Like A Lover's Name, Are Carried Blue In Your Hands, Enter Your Throat. One Swallows Absence.

Women Want Everything Of A Lover. And Too Often I Would Sink Below The Surface. So Armies Disappear Under Sand. And There Was Her Fear Of Her Husband, Her Belief In Her Honour, My Old Desire For Self-sufficiency, My Disappearances, Her Suspicions Of Me, My Disbelief That She Loved Me. The Paranoia And Claustrophobia Of Hidden Love.