Finding Focus

The people who throng the streets shout at each other, their voices rising from the mass of heads and floating upwards towards the church spires and the great copper bells that clang the end of the day. Their words, rising up, form a thick cloud over the city, which every so often must be thoroughly cleansed of too much language

-- Sexing The Cherry

I will likely conclude 2666 this evening. I noted to my wife last night that I wasn't prepared for the serial shifts in the final section. Impossible to summarize justly, the incandescence is throttled by the despair.