“Watchman, what of the night?”
What’s the night but scrambling in the darkness for the light as silhouettes scratching at a wall to dig a shape? Don’t threads grow wild nearing the fringes? Have you seen the earth eclipse the sun? Isn’t that death long? Morning comes, but late, anew against revelers of the night who’ve pissed again upon day’s short flowers; and as spring must always be the painful stitch over winter wounds, so day comes in: chagrined, between daylight fed cyprian trees who with sultry ghosts conspire to shade the moistened nightwood floor. But withhold the moon that drives us dogs from out our kennels to tear the heart out of a man, or tear the throat out of a bitch, and see that in a windowless room confined we become a mirror unto ourselves – and there we talk of what we know, and commonalities combine to say that, yes, it would be fun to go and rage into the night. Oh, but to you who sleep: where do you say you go in dreams? What little precious secrets do your lips keep? Is it not black where your heart resides? Is it not dark under the lid of your eye? I’ll tell you, it is in mine.
“…all the windows, great and small, from which love and fear have peered, shining and in tears. Put those windows from end to end and it would be a casement that would reach around the world; and put those thousand eyes into one eye and you would have the night combed with the great blind searchlight of the heart.”
Djuna Barnes, Nightwood
released June 1, 2013
Synnett, Finkelman, Burkosky, Bassett, 2013.
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