At forty, in Baltimore. Filthy, starving, drunk and/or with delirium tremens, crying out at unseen creatures.
For the love of God, Montresor!
David Markson, Reader’s Block
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At forty, in Baltimore. Filthy, starving, drunk and/or with delirium tremens, crying out at unseen creatures.
For the love of God, Montresor!
David Markson, Reader’s Block
“Such wast thou,
Who art now
But buried dust and rusted skeleton.
Above the bones and mire,
Motionless, placed in vain,
Mute mirror of the flight of speeding years,
Sole guard of grief
Sole guard of memory
Standeth this image of the beauty sped.”
Ezra Pound | “Her Monument, the Image Cut Thereon”
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