knew theoretically, and most people glimpse sooner or later: that they are building ramparts against the dark and trying to believe in them, however flimsy they may be.And though it works, for a little while, it's never going to be that easy. Darkness creeps in around the edges: sleep is elusive, and no amount of willed shut-down can rid his empty flat of the presences that animate it. Death stalks him, to an absurd degree.
from The Guardian: Waking Up in Toytown by John Burnside
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