faulkner-chosen

March 31, 2025

To be of the chosen despite the hungers and gnawings of flesh, to attain a spiritual union with Infinite, to die — how could physical pleasure toward which his blood cried, be compared with this?

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Thought:

“I see a poem as a multi-coloured strip behind peeling plaster, in separate, shining fragments.”

Stanisław Lem

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