To be of the chosen despite the hungers and gnawings of flesh, to attain a spiritual union with Infinite, to die — how could physical pleasure toward which his blood cried, be compared with this?
“Write, let no one hold you back, let nothing stop you: not man; not the imbecilic capitalist machinery, in which publishing houses are the crafty, obsequious relayers of imperatives handed down by an economy that works against us and off our backs; and not yourself.”
Hélène Cixous | The Laugh of the Medusa