Writing itself would seem to be… marginal to a vast, empty, unarticulated center called reality that was displaced more and more by it.
·
Writing itself would seem to be… marginal to a vast, empty, unarticulated center called reality that was displaced more and more by it.
“I need anything, anything that will stop me from living in the kind of death the bourgeois eat, the death called comfort.”
Kathy Acker