I don’t delude myself that writing an essay can somehow undo an act of violence.
Part of me was always glad my mother found a way to cast off the shackles of her ordinary consciousness.
Which came first, the drugs or the schizophrenia?
I don’t believe we get to pick and choose whose struggle for civil rights we align ourselves with.
How could you be so creative, so powerful, so prolific? Do you know what you did to me?
