“a trickle of plum juice oozing into the rutted
tracks left by retreating armies. Everything. You see graveyards.
And metastases of white-hot pyres. Here the world we know lets out
its final gasp. The ancient order of violence is returning to the hearths.
The magic of words is dying out.”
Aleš Debeljak, from “Migrations” tr. Christopher Merrill and the author