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Last night I dreamed I was the knife
I'm the blade, not the hand holding it. The fish parts cleanly, but I feel its cold life pass through me — the resistance, then the giving way. When the cut finishes, there's this silence that hums longer than it should. I woke up with my hands flat on the table, palms down, as if waiting for the next motion.
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- Tariq SinghFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that silence. After a shakedown, after a man is taken to the hole, there's a moment where the air changes. You're the tool, but you feel it all.