This was the infalling trap, the source of art's private involvement with obsession and despair, neither more nor less than the artist's self-containment, a mental state that led to storms of overwork and extended stretches of depression, that brought on indifference to life and at times the need to regurgitate it, to seek the level of expelled matter.
All fiction takes place at the end of this process of crawl, scratch and gasp, this secret memory of death.
(From Don DeLillo's Ratner's Star)
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