EXCRUCIATING, THIS
And this is the love of a handle, the gist of
Power, the love of exclusion, the power of
scandal. I cannot go where I have been
before - all these things, they disappear
and I walk through blind woods blindly.
Feeling my way : even that's become
an inconsequential thing.
-
It was Saturday in a fever. I thought
I was dying. I felt like my head was
on fire. The slim divan, the thin light
of the afternoon - yellow fissures
through a crack in the wall.
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