Man is a moral beast . I am I and yet not I, as if I haunted my own shape and am condemned to watch with shame and rage its animal doings. The flat of the tongue against the walls of the room. The reverberation of yes - sounds enforcing the I, the I, the I. Its face was like the face one had seen in some medieval paintings where the martyr's limbs are being sawed off and his expression says he is being deprived of nothing essential. i've made it clear i am not to be trusted with a body always leaving mine bloodless as ice with just a needle of breath left in its lungs . I wrote the organ sweets - the bread-rich parts of the body before it's opened then devoured. I wrote the middle of the body to its end. You can convince any human being of something's morality .



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