Insomnia #1717
Still awake – thinking about shutting down is about as close as I will get to sleep for another twenty hours.
About two hundred and fifty pages left to The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle – an excellent book, though I wonder whether it will ever reveal the world beyond its solipsist well’s subterranean darkness and ephemeral glimpses of the stars.
I followed the usual route back home, but to my eyes the alley looked different, unfamiliar. Maybe because of the strangely naked moonlight, signs of stagnation and putrefaction stood out with unusual intensity, and I could smell something like the rotting flesh of dead animals and the very definite stink of feces and urine. In many of the houses, people were still up, talking or eating while they watched television. From one window drifted the smell of greasy food, assaulting my brain and stomach.
- The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami
p. 271 Hunger as Pain … Bird as Prophet
The sky is brooding
Perhaps I’m brooding, as well
In Okada’s mind
