I try to think, where is my uninhibited side? Is it attracted to coloratura snippets and therefore has to do with birds? Is it like a Russian chorale, a hundred fragments singing before a mirror? Damned if I know. My louche, unbuttoned, acerbic, free wheeling side pops up all the time. Says what it wants. Says what it wants. Said once: the enemy stars are the same as ours–said it to a military recruiter and why not? And said once to a government agent who was photographing a protest against Ronald Reagan’s involvement with the suppression of freedom in El Salvador: you know there are honest jobs, ones where you can make humble and lasting discoveries. And he of course photographed me.
Planet of the Blind 