By doom severe, had not
And seek to choose a way
Or blood poured forth
Or swine flesh
There is a moment in the infinite duration of the crash-seconds, where you realize you aren't going to die. This moment, friends, is the one we are in.
"You have pretended to be seeing.
I have pretended that you saw.
So came we by such eyes--
And within mystery to have language."
"The book that would have a chance to survive, I think, is the book that destroys itself." --Edmond Jabès, interview in: Paul Auster, The Art of Hunger (1992)