‘The Nightmare’ by John Henry Fuseli, oil on canvas, 1781
Where are you now? At the first flush of dawn everything pitched with exaggeration. An ordinary evening against a dull sky illuminated by lightning... Your letters – ironic, obscene – seduced by a fourth-wave feminist in remission. Ruined by the daughter of some theologist from Zurich. Only your wife knows how you deplore intelligent women. Your life ill-arranged, scattered… the solitary child sits within himself. Absent-minded. The love of your life married off to a friend of the family.