The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again.
The black shape of it running from dark to dark. Then a distant low rumble. Not thunder. You could feel it under your feet. A sound without cognate and so without description. Something imponderable s...
The blackness he woke to on those nights was sightless and impenetrable. A blackness to hurt your ears with listening.
The boy was sitting quietly on the bunk, still wrapped in the blanket, watching. The man thought he had probably not fully committed himself to any of this. You could wake in the dark wet woods at any...
The crimes of the moonlight melonmounter followed him as crimes will.
The drought didnt know when the last one was and nobody knew when the next one was coming.
The earth fell away on every side equally in its arcature and by these limits were they circumscribed and of them were they locus.
The events of the world can have no separate life from the world. And yet the world itself can have no temporal view of things. It can have no cause to favor certain enterprises over others. The passi...
The faint light all about, quivering and sourceless, refracted in the rain of drifting soot.
The freedom of birds is an insult to me. I'd have them all in zoos.That would be a hell of a zoo.The judge smiled. Yes, he said. Even so.
The sand where he sat was warm to the touch but the night beyond the fire was sharp with the cold. He got up and dragged fresh wood in under the bridge. He stood listening. The boy didnt stir. He sat...
The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist w...
The wisdom of the journeyman is to work one day at a time and he always said that any job even if it took years was made up out of a day's work. Nothing more. Nothing less. That was hard for me to lea...
The world is quite ruthless in selecting between the dream and the reality, even where we will not.
Then he just knelt in the ashes. He raised his face to the paling day. Are you there? he whispered. Will I see you at the last? Have you a neck by which to throttle you? Have you a heart? Damn you ete...
There were times when he sat watching the boy sleep that he would begin to sob uncontrollably but it wasn't about death. He wasn't sure what it was about but he thought it was about beauty or goodness...
They went on in the perfect blackness, sightless as the blind.
Things separate from their stories have no meaning. They are only shapes.
This is a dog. He is dead too. This
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