Ancient Evenings [antikvár]

Crude thoughts and fierce forces are my state. I do not know who I am. Nor what I was. I cannot hear a sound. Pain is near that will be Uke no pain felt before.Is this the fear that holds the universe? Is pain the fundament? All the rivers veins of pain? The oceans my mind awash? I have a thirst like the heat of earth on fire. Mountains writhe. I see waves of flame. Washes, flashes, waves of flame.Thirst is in the rivers of the body. The rivers burn but do not move. Flesh is it flesh? hes beneath some heated stone. Lava rises in burned-out fields.Where, in what cavern, have such disruptions taken place? Volcanic lips give fire, wells bubble. Bone lies Hke rubble upon the wound.Is one human? Or merely alive? Like a blade of grass equal to all existence in the moment it is torn? Yes. If pain is fundament, then a blade of grass can know all there is.A burning number came before me. The flame showed an edge as unflickering as a knife, and I passed into that fiery sign. In fire I began to stream through the clear and blazing existence of the number 2,,Pain entered on a pulse. Each rest between each pang was not enough oh, the twisting of hope, the tearing of fiber. My organs had surely distorted, yes, and the shriek of bone when it cracked. Doors opened into blasts.Pain took abode in the most brilUant light. I was exposed to burning rock. Demonic, the heat of the sun, and blood boiling in the veins. Would it never be blood again? The current of the highest fires told me then by the intensity itself that I would not be