(succubus) in a climax of invincible banality!

behind the kisses that I was still able to imagine, I never found K's mouth, which made me feel like a character culminating in a climax of invincible banality --- so I immediately tried to "understand myself", and not to change myself, not to change myself without first understanding myself; finally disillusioned, guiding myself only in relation to what has been happening, with him (k) writing half by chance, which irritates me, besides detaching me from his ‘’throbbing writing’’, leaving me alone with my own voice, in the midst of so many local beauties, which he ‘’ignites’’ every hour, I was easily reborn, precisely because I had never died or been born, nothing that has happened to me up until now has any form, since a DISSOLVED SELF finds no construction for itself, an impulse of flesh with which to apprehend the content of the days through the hunger and movement of living, as I try to do now by committing myself to this claim of myself, refusing to abdicate in favor of new presences, with which I already repudiate any complicity, submissive as they all seem to me to the limits of a body and a voice --- rather my little cough of a hardened high-class woman, which expresses well my scruples, my suspicion of such vast and selfish, so jealous of themselves, that when I think of K I can't help but feel betrayed, deprived of silence