"I am Queen of flies.
Swallow the words that fall from my mouth.
It is not enough for me to be immortal:
I am—and of this I boast—universal.
To begin, I want to impose upon you a desire without end, the sensation of being cut in two, deprived of your truth … like the body and its shadow at sunrise. I will make of you strangers to yourselves, avid for fusion, love and copulation. Let me be stared at, let me be gazed at with the sincere and almost melancholy gravity of deep-seated longing. I am dying.
Weep, my beloved flies."
---Anne-Lou Steininger, from La maladie d’ĂȘtre mouche (The Sickness of Being a Fly)
