A Taxonomy of Wounds
Some years ago, I am not sure how many, a man made a drawing from invented memory. Most believed, including this man, that the drawing was of a cave; that geological nest from which prophets and murderers alike have made our world. After some time, the man realized that the drawing was not of a cave but of a mouth belonging to something beautiful and almost human. From this mouth, the man began to hear an eruptive and inconstant narrative that mocked the story of cruelty.
With these words, the man forged a most delicate and elaborate blade that was the very portrait of mercy. With inevitable cruelty, this blade came to puncture the thin skin between mystery and violence. Broken hearted, the man came to recall a story told to him in his youth about another man who spoke the words of God as told to him from the mouth of an angel. This story now seemed so distant that the man felt he would not recognize it if it were laid bare in front of him. He knew its miracles would be cut apart and illegible. He knew he would not understand it, not even in his own language.
