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One should not be afraid to spend their entire life writing the same book.

This is what writing is.

Every book is different but in the end it’s always the same: a word, an image, the broken memory of a broken body waiting for the present to become the past again, for the future to become the past again, for the present to not be the present, for the heavy blows to cease, for someone to lie to us and tell us that we will go somewhere other than where we are, stuck, here, on this drowning floor, on these dirty concrete blocks, amid the stench, amid the broken bodies, the authoritative bodies, the inhuman bodies, the animal bodies, the abolishing bodies, the burdensome bodies, the quantifying bodies, the hollow bodies, the probing bodies, the doctoring bodies, the soldiering bodies, the howling bodies who do not know what world they have been taken to.

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