The ocean, whose tides respond, like women's menses, to the pull of the moon, the ocean which corresponds to the amniotic fluid in which human life begins, the ocean on whose surface vessels (personified as female) can ride but in whose depth sailors meet their death and monsters conceal themselves... it is unstable and threatening as the earth is not; it spawns new life daily, yet swallows up lives; it is changeable like the moon, unregulated, yet indestructible and eternal.

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There is the falsely mystical view of art that assumes a kind of supernatural inspiration, a possession by universal forces unrelated to quest...

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Only to have a grief equal to all these tears!

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We see daily that our lives are terrible and little, without continuity, buyable and salable at any moment, mere blips on a screen, that this ...

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The moment of change is the only poem.

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