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Thoroughly enjoyed At Night all Blood is Black by David Diop. Raw and morbid, but with a poetic, hypnotic rhythm. Quote:

It feels like I’ve returned from far away. Who am I? I don’t know anymore. Shadows surround me, I can’t see anything, but I begin to sense a warmth lending me life. I try to open eyes that aren’t mine, to move hands that don’t belong to me, but that will belong to me soon, I can tell. My legs are there … Strange, I feel something beneath my dream of a body. There, where I’m returning from, I swear to you, all is immobile. There where I’ve come from, there is no body. But, now, I who was nowhere, I sense myself living. I sense myself becoming incarnate. I sense flesh, bathed in red-hot blood, enclose me. I sense against my belly, against my soon-to-be chest, another body moving, infusing mine with heat. I feel it warming my skin. Where I’ve come from, there is no heat. Where I’ve come from, I swear, nobody has a name. I’m going to open my eyes that are no longer mine. I don’t know who I am. My name escapes me still, but I’ll remember it soon. Strange, the body beneath mine isn’t moving anymore. Strange, I sense its immobile heat beneath me. Strange, I sense, suddenly, hands pressing on my back, a back that doesn’t entirely belong to me yet, thighs that are not yet mine, a neck that doesn’t belong to me but that I absorb, that I accept as mine, thanks to the soft hands touching me. Strange, the hands are suddenly pummeling my back, my thighs, scratching at my neck. Beneath their scratching, this body that wasn’t yet mine became mine. I swear to you, it’s pleasant to leave nothingness. I swear to you that I was there without being there.

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