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LRB · Eliot Weinberger · Next stop, Forbidden City
‘The poet,’ Gu Cheng wrote in 1987, ‘is just like the fabled hunter who naps beside a tree, waiting for hares to break their skulls by running headlong into the tree trunk.
NINA SUBIN.PHOTOGRAPHY
Don't look. The world's about to break. Don't look. The world's about to chuck out all its light And stuff us in the chokepit of its dark, That black and fat suffocated place Where we will kill or die or dance or weep Or scream of whine or squeak like mice To renegotiate our starting price. HAROLD PINTER
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