studio full of stiff-hipped women, wriggling like blocks of wood. like someone pulled one log from a pile of wood and now the rest fall into the same. no no, keep your heels grounded, your knees straight. straight! not locked! what is that? where do I feel it? how do we live like this? how do we fuck like this? unable to feel the difference between one hip and the other, unable to tilt the pelvis or lift the chest. where's baby's nose? here's baby's nose. no, that's not your nose! that's your cheek, silly!
woman born under a pile of wood, grew up there. never knew the colour of her hair.

if something, then something he does not have. there's a whole ground of it right here. existing outside ownership.