A biography for Laura Gentilehasn’t been written yet.
“Stretch out your tongue and let the words drip on the world like savage shooting muses, never, never to be forgotten, if once fallen on earth, they stand in glittery defloration.”
“A cascade of thousands of pomegranate pits fructify her from above and female hands maculate the goddess's body in the musical mists of mind-blowing nightly sex. But they won't fuck her, they will kill her.”
“They can fly and they howl, they slaughter depression and headaches, they daydream like gangbanging daffodils, orchids and cherry blossoms grasping mauve toffee clouds, they breastfeed laughter.”
“There she stood, hiding; the mother without child, the voiceless woman full of anger. Her smoked nails hammered her evaporated heart snivelling in the grotty kitchen of disaster. Her face, depleted, cauterised. Her eyes wheezed shame at what she knew would happen to her daughter, again and all over again.”
“I believe in Aphrodite, I believe in insane thinkers, I believe in roaring free-spirits, I believe in full-throated poetry, I believe in feverish sex and moony love with all its facets.”
“These hands elate my life, choke me, broil my bosom, spank me, give fire to my words, my words, mother, my heart beats in my words.”