Abstract
I am bleeding. I have tried to stop the flow but the pulsation refuses to cease. The red keeps on coming, spilling onto the pages and into the bodily fissures and gaps of the two lives I am trying to re-member. It doesn't disrupt me, but I fear it will interrupt others. I have been told I'm not supposed to be in this text. Neat intervals. That's where I can appear. If I must. Clearly marked, explaining my presence, my reason for interrupting the flow, the delivery, the unravelling of form. History and those grandfather-greats tell me my place in the text creates air-bubbles - pocketed moments of auto - making biography auto/biographical/bio(auto)graphy; slipping knots between the seemingly seamless divisions that demarcate the now and the then, the past and the present, the beginning and the end. A life is a life is a life. And I am me because my little biography knows me.
| Original language | English |
|---|---|
| Number of pages | 9 |
| Journal | Colloquy: Text Theory Critique |
| Issue number | 8 |
| DOIs | |
| Publication status | Published - 2004 |
| Externally published | Yes |
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