Words are the bricks I made this wall with. One by one, I slid them into place, careful not to leave any cracks; careful not to leave any wounds through which I might be seen. I am a writer and I suffer the writer’s disease: incomprehensibility. No one digs this jive and so I build this wall. Recluse-Writer: she is typical of her kind.
Then it hit me: I have a kind. I am not an aberration, nor unique in any lasting way. So I took the words dynamite, c-4, Boom! and Ka-Pow! and blasted a hole right through to the other side.
I do not wish to write in a vacuum. I have traveled the world to discover that the one thing we all seem to need is community, and that is what I am now using these same words to build a staircase towards.
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