It is not the language that speaks but its derailment. Or his birth? It is not me in my daily way of being in the world who writes, that personality (character) that protects against the world.
But it is My voice, the one that was gestating in the alert state before everything that the outside brings or hides. It is my silence open to listening to the language before its big bang and long before its grammar. But also willing to be his big bang to propose other ways of saying the world.
Write so that language does not tell me who I am and where I am, who the others are, the other, what I see, what I hear and what is not seen. I am an animal that makes a metaphor of animals. And I can name myself without the help of gods.