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loneliness is the violent dog that barks interminably through the long night of grief.
After he had combed through the thick hide of night, as one would search for lice on the skin of a densely furred animal,
They spoke no words but mourned, gasped, sighed, gnashed their teeth. The things in the room spoke in their stead: the bed uttered a mournful cry, and the sheets seemed to engage in a slow, considered speech like a child singing a rhyme. It all happened with the grace of a festival – so quickly, so suddenly, so vigorously, yet so tenderly.
he felt the craving that seemed to have disappeared long ago emerge as if it had been merely hidden all this while in the back pocket of his heart like an old coin.
‘Am coming,’ he said and went to the toilet to urinate. When
Makes me laugh.someone saying they are coming when they are going.
her claws folding and unclasping.
Geese do not have claws
to pass in fervent haste.
I think the first part of this chapter could have been cut.
he thrashed about like an injured worm in the mud of despair.
Nice!
To harbour hatred in the heart is to keep an unfed tiger in a house filled with children and the feeble, for it cannot afford communion with a human being, nor can it be tamed.
Indeed, hatred is a vandalism of the human heart.
