But Death's Acquisitive Instincts Will

I Have The Sense That If I Push Too Hard Or Too Far Into Memory I’ll Come Apart.

I Awake With A Not Entirely Sickened Knowledge That I Am Merely Young Again And In A Funny Way At Peace, An Observer Who Is Aware Of Time's Chariot, Aware That Some Metamorphosis Has Occurred.

It Is Like Visiting One's Funeral, Like Visiting Loss In Its Purest And Most Monumental Form, This Wild Darkness, Which Is Not Only Unknown But Which One Cannot Enter As Oneself.

Being Ill Like This Combines Shock - This Time I Will Die - With A Pain And Agony That Are Unfamiliar, That Wrench Me Out Of Myself.

My Protagonists Are My Mother's Voice And The Mind I Had When I Was Thirteen.