Sometimes I think I am playing the piano, which I cannot do, but I hear rhythms in my tapping and sometimes, Glenn Gould-like, I chant as I go to remind myself what’s coming in the next few lines.
“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