You and I know (don’t we?), there is a thing and the idea of it. An other, an envy that looks human — more than, I give it such luster even it takes the air out of me — a self and an idea of it and another.
“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