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Never saw anything so impressive in my life. You always
know a bombardment will eventually end. But this slice
into pure energy, this open breach of the first pirates…
Inexhaustible, surely inexhaustible. And the volcanic
isle builds itself up beneath our eyes, day by day,
this summer of 1965 in Iceland, off the Westman
islands, each lava flow changing instantly into
stone, like Gilles and Anne at the end of
The Devil’s Envoys, adding layer upon
layer, until right in the midst of the
sea where there was nothing,
something exists.