Andre Solnikkar

“We had exhausted all the common manners of distraction as well as some less common ones. No matter what ecstasy we might have achieved, a moment later the same old routine of eating, excreting and emoting demanded its right. Nature, mindlessly bestowing millennia of mayhem in her vast theater of wriggling decay, did not care, of course, yet seemed to mock us with every crooked tree, each one a megalomaniac weed, and every shrill cry of some idiot bird (is “Nevermore!” really that hard to get right?), with the deformed, torn clouds adding a distinct sense of clumsy kindergarten-level artistry to the scene. The impudence of a sickly moon I would be willing to forgive, perhaps even to enjoy as a sardonic quirk, but who could not take umbrage with the utterly random distributions of stars? How often must I tell you to clean up that mess in the sky?”
― Andre Solnikkar, Post Mortem Diversions

“Time and space float and dissolve like sugar in wine. You are already dead, even though you haven’t yet been born. You’re nothing but a drop on the tip of your father’s crooked cod, a sigh in your mother’s sore throat. And yet the worms are standing in line, waiting for their feast to fester. Why should you dread your death?”
― Andre Solnikkar, Pestilentia Innamorata