"Write! and your self-seeking text will know itself better than flesh and blood, rising, insurrectionary dough kneading itself, with sonorous, perfumed ingredients, a lively combination of flying colors, leaves, and rivers plunging into the sea we feed. "Ah, there's her sea," he will say as he holds out to me a basin full of water from the little phallic mother from whom he's inseparable. But look, our seas are what we make of them, full of fish or not, opaque or transparent, red or black, high or smooth, narrow or bankless; and we are ourselves sea, sand, coral, sea-weed, beaches, tides, swimmers, children, waves .... More or less wavily sea, earth, sky-what matter would rebuff us? We know how to speak them all."
- Hélène Cixous, The Laugh Of The Medusa

To read more of my poetry, go to oceanflowerbird.tumblr.com/thelinks

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