My first exile was leaving the countryside for the city, to enter San Gabriel, an Anglican school where they’d put Gringo soap in the mouths of children who didn’t speak English. And I didn’t know a word of English! I began to learn through osmosis and sound, reciting “twinkle twinkle little star.” I had never heard such a perfect word. “Twinkle” sounded exactly like a star performing— the shining of a sound.
—  Cecilia Vicuña, from “The First Exile: Santiago, 1957,” Spit Temple tr. Rosa Alcalá

I <3 Closure In Moscow.. 

This serpent on my doorstep, well, he’s got a sweet southern drawl. Lulling so you may invite his venom.Oh, he was knocking, but didn’t know it’s coming. Oh, he was knocking, but didn’t know my mutation was imminent. He couldn’t help it; spouting invocations. I said unto him:

Don’t you dare speak that name. Don’t you ever speak that name. Break the very tenets that you spit in my face, now I’m ready to obliterate. So send me all your preachers, and I’ll put them all to shame. I’ll be the vanguard of their fall, middle of their falter. Bezel in their rings, now dropping all the stones.
First you’ll oscillate, and then you’ll feel the fire burn and formicate, while all your words are coming out cancrine.

Don’t just let him rot this hall. “I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.” Don’t just let him rot this hall. “I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to be saved.” Then you’ll all fall in silence. Then you’ll all fall.