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in which I stand behind those who came before me, shifting my weight, clearing my throat shyly

I just remembered another author I love who claims to live in the now of her desire, her birth, and even her death! It seems impossible to deny it any longer, I am hiding behind my sources. Shield me, Anne! Shield me, Clarice! Shield me Sappho, Gertrude, Virginia, Chris! Grant me immunity from criticism with your own brilliance, lend me your candidness so that I do not need to be candid myself! Let me talk to a lover through movies (watch this and think of me; this dialogue is my dialogue; this is what I mean to say when I cannot say anything) and let me speak to a viewer through obscure references. Let me keep everyone at arm’s length because in truth I am mostly a hypocrite, interested (a flaccid, neuter word) in desire but also terrified of it.

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