Thursday, January 09, 2003

From our reading:

"After short, incoherent days, partly spent in sleeping, the nights opened up like an enormous, populated motherland. Crowds filled the streets, turned out in public squares, head close to head, as if the top of a barrel of caviar had been removed and it was now flowing out in a stream of shiny buckshot, a dark river under a pitch-black night noisy with stars. The stairs broke under the weight of thousands, at all the upper floor windows little figures appeared, matchstick people jumping over the rails in a moon-struck fervour, making living chains, like ants, living structures and columns — one astride another's shoulders — flowing down from windows to the platforms of squares lit by the glare of burning tar barrels."

— Bruno Schulz, "The Comet", in The Street of Crocodiles (trans. Celina Wieniewska), pp. 154–155 in the Penguin edition.

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