So it was that in the very bower of love arose the specter of death.
Patrick McGrath, The Grotesque
-
Sunday, 4th November
The living, I think, are larvae of the dead—dead bodies at an early stage of development.
Patrick McGrath, The Grotesque
-
Wednesday, 14th November
Like me she has been trapped in a false world of shadows and phantoms; for her, as for me, the borders and boundaries of the real and the fantastic have become blurred, unreliable, faulty.
Patrick McGrath, The Grotesque
-
Monday, 19th November
How hard is it to lose the self! Almost impossible, to ditch that gibbering monkey and merge for even a moment with the Nature of which we are a part, yet from which we have so efficiently alienated ourselves.
Patrick McGrath, The Grotesque
-
Wednesday, 2nd January
This, then, is the ‘I’ who speaks: cocooned in bone, I pupate behind a blank and lizardlike stare, as my body is consumed by its own metabolism.
Patrick McGrath, The Grotesque
-
Wednesday, 6th March