you cannot escape the necessity of language to explode tongues into fists. or knives for that matter. fists and knives that bruise and cut, and sometimes cut you open into a whole new kind of thing, be it pain or wonderful. nor can you escape a fistful of words crammed down your throat. stuffed to the point where you cannot breathe, to the gills with guilt or sorrow or happiness. but you can turn your lungs inside out and shock the shit out of everyone, which i do from time to time.