LOOPHOLES IN TIME AND SPACE (2)
“For the heart, life is simple: it beats for as long as it can. Then it stops. Sooner or later, on day, this pounding action will cease of its own accord, and the blood will begin to run towards the body’s lowest point, where it will collect in a small pool, visible from the outside as a dark, soft patch on ever whitening skin, as the temperature sinks, the limbs stiffen and the intestines drain. These changes in the first hours occur so slowly and take place with such inexorability that there is something ritualistic about them, as though love de capitulates according to specific rules, a kind of gentleman’s agreement to which the representatives of death also adhere, inasmuch as they always wait until life has retreated before they launch their invasion of the new landscape. The enormous hordes of bacteria that begin to infiltrate the body’s innards cannot be halted...and then they arrive at the heart. As yet, it is intact, but deprived of the activity to which end its whole construction has been designed, there is something strangely desolate about it, like a production plant that workers have been forced to flee in haste, or so it appears, the stationary vehicles shining yellow against the darkness of the forest, the huts deserted, a line of fully loaded cable-buckets stretching up the hillside. The moment life departs the body, it belongs to death.” (Karl Ove Knausgaard: “My struggle”)
A day at the Museum of Natural History: vertebrae of a sei whale.
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