“When he moves, a streetlight stabs him, and the words flow out like blood.”

“Writing without words? Its not easy, I tell you! I stab the pen into my heart and let the blood flow. No more ink, no more words, no more b.s. Just me.”

“Beckett moved quickly. In one motion he snagged the pen out of Kim’s scrub pocket, stepped back, and stabbed his forearm. The ballpoint produced an instant stream of blood.“Here, take mine,” he begged. “I’ve got plenty of blood.”

“There are two kinds of blood, the blood that flows in the veins and the blood that flows out of them.”

“The streetlight outside my house shines on tonight and I'm watching it like it could give me a vision. James ain't talked ever and he looks at that streetlight like it was a word and maybe like it was a verb. James wanted to streetlight me and make me bright and beautiful so all the moths and bats would circle me like I was the center of the world an held secrets.”

“I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences. I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with it’s painful gall-stones, it’s gravel and what-not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul...”