Henry Barreras

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Confessions of Zeno
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The Persistent De...
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Apr 23, 2026 01:03AM

 
The Best Poems of...
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Jean Genet
“You're not my sweetheart, you're myself. My heart or my sex. A branch of me.”
Jean Genet, Our Lady of the Flowers

Cookie Mueller
“Fortunately I am not the first person to tell you that you will never die. You simply lose your body. You will be the same except you won't have to worry about rent or mortgages or fashionable clothes.
You will be released from sexual obsessions.
You will not have drug addictions.
You will not need alcohol.
You will not have to worry about cellulite or cigarettes or cancer or AIDS or venereal disease.
You will be free.”
Cookie Mueller, Ask Dr. Mueller: The Writings of Cookie Mueller

Eileen Myles
“Jimmy Schuyler was my new job. Slowly I moved his possessions to the Chelsea from an 8th Avenue flophouse where on the final day among the dry cleaned clothes still in plastic bags, charred bits of poetry on papers, art print books-- I masturbated because it was a filthy and interesting place and he found out because I told one person who told someone else. It's alright dear I don't need anything. Go have fun.”
Eileen Myles, Chelsea Girls

Violette Leduc
“My case is not unique : I am afraid of dying and distressed at being in this world. I haven’t worked, I haven’t studied. I have wept, I have cried out in protest. These tears and cries have taken up a great deal of my time. I am tortured by all the time lost whenever I think about it. I cannot think about things for long, but I can find pleasure in a withered lettuce leaf offering me nothing but regrets to chew over. There is no sustenance in the past. I shall depart as I arrived. Intact, loaded down with the defects that have tormented me. I wish I had been born a statue : I am a slug under my dunghill. Virtues, good qualities, courage, meditation, culture. With arms crossed on my breast I have broken myself against those words.”
Violette Leduc, La Bâtarde

Violette Leduc
“Sometimes I was unfaithful to my grandmother during our walks. I would stop and let her walk on ahead, I would bend down and do up my shoelace, quickly I would pick up a stone or pebble, then run after her and give her my free hand. When the stone or pebble was warm I let it fall on something soft: the grass or sand. Then I could breathe with the satisfaction of having had an existence of my own.”
Violette Leduc, La Bâtarde

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