Wednesday, August 26, 2009

And then I’m editing the new book, and I come right to this passage...

“Until I'm looking at the buckwheat on my plate, brown dots on the beige grain like larvae like something's going to hatch I'm scared and disgusted, what is it -- something about rotting flesh a memory stuck in the way something looks like it's stuck in this grain I don't know what except this feeling of disgust where I can't keep my eyes from narrowing.”


Can’t keep my eyes from narrowing, it’s that same squinting feeling, memory.

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