from The Color of Pomegranates
Mr. Chiba set to work. He became a fixture at the morgue, speaking to the bodies as he prepared them for viewing and then cremation. “You must be so cold and lonely, but your family is going to come for you soon so you’d better think of what you’re going to say to them when they arrive,” he recalled saying.
Cryptoforests are sideways glances at post-crash landscapes, diagrammatic enclaves through which future forest cities reveal their first shadows, laboratories for dada-do-nothingness, wild-type vegetable free states, enigma machines of uncivilized imagination, psychogeographical camera obscuras of primal fear and wanton desire, relay stations of lost ecological and psychological states.
Nobody is proof against music, really. There isn’t anything else to do with one’s heart, one willingly surrenders it. Behind all the music one ought to try and catch that noiseless tune that’s made for us, the melody of death.
— Celine, Journey to the End of the Night