About Me

The clock rises. The door opens, enter the outdoors. We fall outside ourselves. The clock strikes. Fire. We fall. In love. Headfirst. Arms open, torso open. The stranger enters our body, nervous, opens the avid mouths in the heart, in the belly, the mouths fill up with famine, it burns it bites in the breast, painful signs, nameless, very powerful phenomena… finally all this inconvenient, invincible pain, this aggression, this displeasure that twists its great vital nerve, this martyrdom with malady, this voracity for mean, with hesitation we call it love. The odor of fire, the taste of blood, life enriched by wounds, enhanced by murders — love. 🌹 - Hélène Cixous - “What is it O’Clock? Or the Door (We Never Enter)," from Stigmata: Escaping Texts

My vulnerability is natural and permissible and beautiful to me, and it should remind you of your responsibility to behave like a friend to me and the world. - Jenny Slate