Serial Library passage May 11

11 May

If Femur called to you, Cloud, in the blue blue summer of your native love, would you run to her? Would you hug her when she hungered? Would you help her feel her life arrive again in the lap of her wanton need? Would you spin on the axle of your love? Would you rend yourself for Femur’s love? Would you harpoon the stupid silence, like silence were a thickness to be halved, then halved again, sullied with words, then washed clean by the death of another moment. The monumental silence rides the death of the moment like a knight rides his stead. The lance is the hook upon which the words accumulate till they push over the handle of the lance and force themselves into the bloodstream of the knight, poisoning him to the brink of death. Sit by the fire, now, and wait to see if death will step over the brink, or draw back again today and wait again today for another opportunity.

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