- Vol. 02
- Chapter 06
Silverware Makes White Noise
That is my end of the table: porcelain and livid. You live here.This is your spot. Mosaic, assembled, braised.
Life is all forks and spoons now. You bite into me. Al dente? Something chips away, little by little I begin to feel like bread crumbs:
Grainy, static or some such variant. And that thing we seem to have discovered upholstered, episodic, rearranged—
that furniture is now immovable.What is credible though, is that gingerly
we have come to realise that pain is a four letter word too synonymous with the other. You and I are merely bitten.