The world falling apart around me, and I circle around in my place like a panther in her cage, singing that old, murky Joy Division standard: Love, love will tear us apart, again...
And I slowly read that modern classic: Burhan al-'asal.
Oh, the supreme wisdom of the East! The wisdom of Omar Khayyam, and so many imams of the Golden Age.
It is Autumn again, my favourite love season, warm, melancholic, murky, silent, apart of my muffled screams. Oh, the season of lovers who are truly circumcised in their hearts!
This is my return to the source, in a world where things fall apart. Where victories turn into choking ashes, where Europe is a transatlantic that ponderously departs from our (their) wharf.
My cunt in the centre of the widening gyre, and I'm immersed in heavenly ecstasies.