"The tangle of crowding memories and things forgotten" transports us, the hullabaloo hurtles, here we have landed, ludicrous and aghast at these two barriers: the swell of words of which we understand scratch, their music rains down and hurts in the back of our minds, where occasionally some of the usual ones open up and fill us with such brilliant joy (for example, when we discover that "koutla" doesn't simply mean "machete," it really means the thing that will serve as our refuge, the thing that cuts through the days and nights and allows you to believe that you will survive) and the density of the forest we look up to, daring to think that one day we'll go up there. (beginning of "Burnt-over Memories")"