The Projects Are Haunted – Jonathan Hine

Darkness manifests in its relation to that appalling impurity which had no equivalent, but unequal to the immaculate purity of the prayers I heard offered that night, prayers that ascended in waves of bliss whose immaterial ornamentation congealed the convulsed transitions of the previous feeble materializations, columns of blackness destined to support nothing, figures soft and heavy as a massive black hole carved in the ethereal block of eternity. For without principle there was nothing left, a term without life and a body that cannot describe what it has done, because when there is no body there is nothing. You alone were right: I shall die as cattle. There is a cemetery where the markers are removed and the plots renamed, the dead buried among the bones of those buried before, sockets lost in the sky, overabundantly ungovernable, recomposed in their essential principle, dead to that which is for everyone else the world, dead to those who still hover above, each plot a paradise.