i feel grateful if people talk to me. i experience everything as violence, violence withheld, violence delivered, violence in the wings waiting for its moment, which is never the right moment. there is never a right moment for violence. violence waits for the wrong moment. the wrong moment lasts for ever. the reverberations of violence, done to me, never stop. violence visited itself upon me in physical form when i was 13 and it never left. v lives inside me. v takes up a lot of space. v jostles uncomfortably with love. violence always wins. v breeds anger and resentment and shame. these are my sullen children. they live with me but they are loyal only to violence. nothing inside me is loyal to me. i take my nothing and i fill it with the things i make. i make things that are on my side. i make things for me. i make against violence.