Fate chose me and you, bone-splintered
and begging, to hurt each other
into newness.
Demolish me. My body a city
of glass, your pockets full
of stones each stone
a moment
I needed you.
Isabelle Correa
Identity is untenable: it is death, since it fails to inscribe its own death. Every closed or metastable, functional or cybernetic system is shadowed by mockery and instantaneous subversion (which no longer takes the detour through long dialectical labour), because all the system's inertia acts against it.
Baudrillard - Symbolic Exchange and Death
O rumor longínquo que há na casa é meu.
Mas o labirinto que me atrai é vosso:
Mais que duas bocas, dez dedos, muitas folhas.
Llansol, Maria Gabriela
