...the eyes, the lips, and the sex..., these sexual openings to our insides. There is no soul, there is only desire.

...and then he painted the person's name, lest the owner should ever forget... like a woman holding her knees and rocking herself back and forth next to an ocean, choking on her own silence and the only thing she can cough up is a stone, falling from her open mouth like an apocalypse.

...If God approved of his creation, he breathed the painted clay figure into life..., breath like blood and wine, intoxicating and alive, the same wind passing through an entire world's mouth and anus, like an orgy.

...by signing his own name... "I scream my own name during sex," he said, like an egoist gospel cried out in exaltation, like a prayer for the death of awareness.