How Great Is That Darkness?

And, in its shadow, we have ourselves become deathless, dreamless, sleepless. No, only a dull sense of time still remains, but it is time without an edge, without an end, without the sharpness and finality and profundity—a mockery of time, for nothing changes. Day has never come again, and the stars are gone. Our only light is the burning flesh whose black flames fill our eyes with darkness. Do not look up into that terrible scab lying in the air above our heads. It is death, and the things which have been born under its shadow cannot be named.