“I didn't ask my mother to buy me a trumpet or a violin, I started right on the water hose.”

“When I die I want them to play the BLACK AND CRAZY BLUES, I want to be cremated, put in a bag of pot and I want beautiful people to smoke me and hope they got something out of it. ∞”

“Okay, so there’s just you. Your goals, your career, your crew, your prospects, and your God. All together, chillin’. Before the house, the apartment, the kids, the boyfriend, the wedding, the night you crossed over with your frat brothers, there’s that pivotal point of asking your heart, “Who am I, really? What do I really like? Do I want to change for someone else? Is my soul mate right now, somewhere, finishing this sentence and completing my thoughts?”

“I ask for nothing but to live in my suffering.”

“Every shove, every epithet, every time I was too scared to walk down a certain hallway. Every time I got threatened. Every time I didn't report it. Every time I got called sissy or faggot or homo. Every time I sat in class waiting for a teacher to mention gay people. Every time they didn't. Every long walk to the cafeteria. Every time I stopped breathing in the locker room while I stripped to my underwear. Every time I saw a girl wearing her boyfriend's class ring, knowing Walker could go to jail because of me. Every time I burped up acid because my stomach was churning so hard. Every second I spent assessing how I dressed, how I walked, whether I lisped. Every hour I spent writing the things I couldn't say out loud. Every time I shared those words with other people.”

“What pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence. In front of the photograph of my mother as a child, I tell myself: She is going to die: I shudder… over a catastrophe which has already occurred. Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe.”

“—You have never known a Woman’s body!—I have known the body of my mother, sick and then dying.”