When I become aware of the nakedness of the place, I hear someone laughing who is really in pain. Approaching from the other side, I recognise the tangle of lives without understanding the direction they’ve come from. My mouth is trained to form sounds as if I were expressing my own desires, my body to move as if there had never been another way of moving. For how could I be caught otherwise between pain and its expression? Yet I once dreamt of these scenes differently, without melting away, or wondering who it was they thought of when they called my name.
— Ian Seed, from Anonymous Intruder
Notes from a Room 