“We try a new drug, a new combination
of drugs, and suddenly
I fall into my life again
like a vole picked up by a storm
then dropped three valleys
and two mountains away from home.
I can find my way back. I know
I will recognize the store
where I used to buy milk and gas.
I remember the house and barn,
the rake, the blue cups and plates,
the Russian novels I loved so much,
and the black silk nightgown
that he once thrust
into the toe of my Christmas stocking.”
“Devoid of any survival instinct, they're all truly running towards their very own apocalypse. Very sad, mostly because they all seem so blindly ecstatic on the way there. Some will manage to flee this doctrine, those doomed to face the music. And that melody never leaves them... Sadly, this may be the only reason they never return to their tragic culture.”