«I’m afraid I’m losing touch with the faces of those I love. I’m losing touch with the current of timelessness. Maybe I won’t grow old with a fattening belly and some old dog toothless and tongue hanging in the house. I won’t grow old and maybe I want to. Maybe nothing can save me. Maybe all my dreams as a kid and as a young guy have fallen down to their knees. Inside my head I wished for years that I could separate into ten different people to give each person I loved a part of myself forever and also have some left over to drift across landscapes and maybe even to go into death or areas that were deadly and have enough of me to survive the death of one or two of me—this was what I thought appropriate for all my desires and I never figured out how to rearrange it all and now I’m in danger of losing the only one of me that is around. I’m in danger of losing my life and what gesture can convey or stop this possibility? What gesture of hands or mind can stop my death? Nothing, and that saddens me.»
Extracto de
In the Shadow of the American Dream: The Diaries of David Wojnarowicz
