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Gabriel Arnou-Laujeac
222
The disenchantment is an earthquake. It
sweeps the memory of what was sacred,
of what makes everything, of what is no
longer. It takes all away in its irresistible
fall, even your shadow and light. It leaves
you half dead, buried under the rubble of
a rupture splitting the earth, in a solitude
peopled by silent shadows: possession and
addiction, euphoria and lack, fusion and
absence are millennial drugs whose hunger
is vast and whose end is devastating.