Shall There Be Womanly Times? Or Shall

When They Kissed She Immediately Felt His Tongue, Tensed And Strong, Pushing Past Her Teeth, Like Some Bully Shouldering His Way Into A Room. Entering Her.

My Biggest Fear, I Think Falling From A Great Height. If I Want To Keep Myself Awake At Night I Imagine I'm On The Top Of The North Or South Tower In 9/11, Wondering Whether I'm Going To Be Burnt To Death Or I'm Going To Jump. And I Think I Would Burn To Death. And Yet I'm Impressed By The Fact That Hundreds Didn't.

It Was Thought, Perception, Sensations That Interested Her, The Conscious Mind As A River Through Time, And How To Represent Its Onward Roll, As Well As All The Tributaries That Would Swell It, And The Obstacles That Would Divert It. If Only She Could Reproduce The Clear Light Of A Summer's Morning.

I've Yet To Meet Somebody Who Said, 'your Stories Are So Revolting I Couldn't Read Them.'

But How To Do Feelings? All Very Well To Write "she Felt Sad", Or Describe What A Sad Person Might Do, But What Of Sadness Itself, How Was That Put Across So It Could Be Felt In All Its Lowering Immediacy? Even Harder Was The Threat, Or The Confusion Of Feeling Contradictory Things.