"Violence ruptures the sky in half— It shatters every world that’s in the making of a map of light. I fall fast between drops of blood. With precision I cut into my skin and sever the sun from me."
Woman’s Grammar in the Dream: When Our Lips Speak Together
“No surface holds. No figure, line, or point remains. No ground subsists. But no abyss, either. Depth, for us, is not a chasm. Without a solid crust, there is no precipice. Our depth is the thickness of our body, our all touching itself. Where top and bottom, inside and outside, in front and behind, above and below are not separated, remote, out of touch. Our all intermingled. Without breaks or gaps.”