since 1966, i’ve responded to those who call me fabio novembre. since 1992, i’ve responded to those who also call me “architect”. i cut out spaces in the vacuum by blowing air bubbles, and i make gifts of sharpened pins so as to insure i never put on airs. my lungs are imbued with the scent of places that i’ve breathed, and when i hyperventilate it’s only so i can remain in apnea for awhile. as though i were pollen, i let myself go with the wind, convinced i’m able to seduce everything that surrounds me. i want to breathe till i choke. i want to love till i die.