Everyone speaks a language he does not understand, but which now and then is understood by others. That is enough to permit one to exist and at least to be misunderstood.
“And into another room and another room and room and room and room, all the corridors, we poured carafes of their blood down our throats. Then the final room we stood in, with still-open windows, untouched, illuminate. We wanted to inhabit the light and be inhabited by it. Our fingers knew the ritual.”
Lisa Marie Basile | Nympholepsy