![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() It’s a long way back to sunset, a far way on to dawn, so you summon all the fool things of your life, the stupid lovely things done with people known so very well who are now so very dead – And wasn’t it true, had he read somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3 A.M. The moon rolls by to look at you down there, with its idiot face. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you’d slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that’s burned dry. Coleridge evokes ice turning to water, a change that serves only to illustrate how different forms are composed of the same material. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. Midnight is the witching hour, the moment when one day becomes another, when one thing transforms into another. You’re the nearest to dead you’ll ever be save dying. But three, now, Christ, three A.M.! Doctors say the body’s at low tide then. Five or six in the morning, there’s hope, for dawn’s just under the horizon. Oh God, midnight’s not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two’s not bad, you toss but sleep again. But men in middle age? They know that hour well. Best Sellers Rank: 178,650 in Movies & TV ( See Top 100 in Movies & TV ) 8,488 in Horror (Movies & TV) Customer Reviews: 2. Women never wake then, do they? They sleep the sleep of babes and children. ![]()
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