Thursday, October 9, 2014

When I read what I write in English, I feel my mouth stuffed with fabric, yards of silk fabric. I can't pronounce all the letters properly. When I read what I write, I hear the accent, see the clouds in my head, feel the fog in my eyes. I still have trouble understanding & expressing the world in English. If both worlds are real, is that a blessing? I can travel between them, change who I am, how many I am. I wonder  ... I always wonder.
Too many "I"s in here ... it bothers me.

art by Michel Ogier

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