When I Write, It's Everything That We

Everything Ends With Flowers.

Perhaps What I Do Not Manage To Operate Rapidly Enough Is The Passage Between The Outside And The Inside.

Censor The Body And You Censor Breath And Speech At The Same Time. Write Yourself. Your Body Must Be Heard.

Decisive Moment: The One When You Will Be Really Alone. And It Is Perhaps This That Makes Her Hesitate: Not The Void, But The Vastness Of The Solitude. It's As Well If You Are Frightened Of Solitude. It's A Sign That You Have Come To The Moment Of Your Birth.

And I Was Afraid. She Frightens Me Because She Can Knock Me Down With A Word. Because She Does Not Know That Writing Is Walking On A Dizzying Silence Setting One Word After The Other On Emptiness. Writing Is Miraculous And Terrifying Like The Flight Of A Bird Who Has No Wings But Flings Itself Out And Only Gets Wings By Flying.