It is, for reasons that I dare not go into at this time and perhaps ever, a perfectly lousy Sunday afternoon. Fortunately, some of our more thoughtful forbears wrote down words to come alongside us and help us bear up under it. It’s funny that their scribblings should have such an effect, but they do. They do.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.