What troubles my existence is speaking, having to speak. Then at least let me speak from within speaking, from within your speech, disillusioned. Illusion? To think I can bypass you in whatever errand of speech. To think I’m as strong as speech and therefore at liberty to distort it in my favour. Or rather, not to see that I can’t help distorting it. Not to see that speech is my open wound. That he who speaks is incomplete.


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