clay, acrylic paint
when you stop to examine the way in which our words are formed and uttered, our sentences are hard-put to it to survive the disaster of their slobbery origins. the mechanical effort of conversation is nastier and more complicated than defecation. that corolla of bloated flesh, the mouth, which screws itself up to whistle, which sucks in breath, contorts itself, discharges all manner of viscous sounds across a fetid barrier of decaying teeth—how revolting!
louis-ferdinand céline, journey to the end of the night