The Passion According to G.H. (New Directions Books)

an inexistent life possessed me entirely and kept me busy like an invention.

Since they weren’t mine, I never tortured them.

I had superimposed upon the inextricable part of myself,

but the natural light of whatever exists, and it is that natural light that terrorizes me. Though I know that the horror — I am the horror in the face of things.

Only later would I understand: what seems like a lack of meaning — that’s the meaning. Every moment of “lack of meaning” is precisely the frightening certainty that that’s exactly what it means, and that not only can I not reach it, I don’t want to because I have no guarantees.

Two minutes after my birth I had already lost my origins.

I was the image of what I was not,

I’m afraid to begin composing in order to be understood by the imaginary someone,

more than awareness of life, was the actual process of life inside me.