Nearly all of us, artist or not, feel the terrors of work as well as the joy of work. Sometimes, writing for me is a tense grip of creativity and lightness but also highly abnormal, maybe even dangerous. I get so worked up over words in my journal and I wish I had the faith in humanity to put some of them here. But, that's why I'm writing a book, because my thoughts are my own but I want to give them to other people. I don't ever want to feel like someone stole my mind or my being. I have an intense fascination with a language's ability to control and shape people. The last two days I've written about twelve pages of everything that I've been feeling needs to be put into words. Dear English Language, Swallow me whole.