So I waited eightmonths, but I’m out of the army now. Peel like an artichoke the scar-tissue heart of a lost dream, and findin the center a pulsing golden light with a name. The smell of the fur, the crackling, it was burninglike fat in a rue. As the Nautilus lives its brief life it moves from room to room in its shell andfinally emerges and dies; thus, it literally carries its past on its back.
I think you’ re enjoying this in some sick way. I’ ll have to go out and scout. Madness crawls up behind our eyes, the mother’ s eyes, and we sink into a pit of blind emptiness. ” She didn’ t sit down.
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