i write this, and my cheeks are burning. this must be similar to what a woman feels when she first senses within herself the pulse of a new, still tiny, still blind human being. it is i and at the same time, not i. and for many long months it will be necessary to nourish it with my own life, my own blood, then tear it painfully from myself and lay it at the feet of the one state. but i am ready, like everyone, or almost every one, of us. i am ready...yevgeny zamyatin, we. acrylic paint on wall, 8ft by 9 ft.