Sublime

belligerent,

There’s a house fire inside many of us,14 Vincent had come to believe, and we’ve been concentrating on the smoke.

When I felt off, it was my fault, a sign of some internal weakness, a lack of moral fiber, a crack running through the integrity of my being. “It is hardly possible to take up one’s residence in the kingdom of the ill unprejudiced by the lurid metaphors with which it has been landscaped,” Sontag writes. Indeed: despite all my efforts to think objec

ersatz.

reneged

Even in a body’s most private moments, something else joins in. Someone spoke to her when she was dead.