I am currently trying to sharpen the soft, and soften the sharp edges. Consequently my skin is thinning and thickening in what I hope are the right places.
And it is not because there is nothing else to do, there is plenty - and all of it more urgent and engaging - but though this thing is less so, so deficient and desperate, without it the rest remains immobile.
But I am not delusional; this thing is no less desperate, no less sick, but it remains more constant. It is a slower sickness; it burns the nerves slowly enough to create great warmth.
The idea then is to steer it, lock it to these narratives I claim to deal in, and follow it all the way round.
Currently 2nd year M.A. Philosophy and Contemporary Critical Theory (Middlesex)
B.A. English and American Literature (Warwick)
