I suppose this wireless business is really something else but the truth is I just can’t bring myself to get excited about it. It is no more miraculous that these words will go flying out into the wild air, already buzzing with noise of coffee machines and tongues, then that they can run down wires thousands of miles long. I am burned out on miracles, I have seen too much of their kind, and what I have still not seen…

Let the cruelty of men go out into the world: On either side of me I had to listen to two different men verbally abusing women, one for doing something to his computer while he was away, the other for some little fault long ago forgotten by the earth and air. She, the latter, writes Mary (heart) Ari at the top of her notebook, there to lie silent amid a storm of useless words about sociology or something else. I have written such things in notebooks, in women’s notebooks, in notebooks I have lost or do not wish to find: more and less articulate by turns, among the articles of a discipline more and less articulate about the world—facts now stale and unanimated as the confessions. Not what my hungry heart desires.

Burn your fucking computers. Better to enter heaven maimed, stupid, and blind, than cause one moment of hurt to another person.