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Gabriel Arnou-Laujeac


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.