I No Longer Believe in the Sun: Love Letters to Katie Couric

Fiction. "Here we find, written down, bound in books, displayed to the eyes, intoned to the ears, a noise, a bawling, a buzzing of charades, of tales, of puns, insinu-ations, epistles, sonnets, epigrams, books, prolix documents, violent sweats, lives wasted away with gnashings of teeth to deafen the stars, lamentations resounding in the caverns of hell, woes that stun the souls of the living, sighs to cause the merciful gods to faint, all that for the sake of these eyes, these ears, this blush, this tongue, this tooth, this hair, this dress, this coat, this little shoe, this sun in eclipse, this crazy person, this slut, this stench, this deathbed, this privy, this menstruation, this corpse which, by means of a superficial appearance, a shadow, a phantasm, a dream, a Circe-like charm in the service of procreation, deceives us by taking the form of beauty"--Giordano Bruno.