Skeletons w/ Poison Teeth

I am currently battling my way through Thomas Pynchon’s “V,” which I picked up because I read the first few pages in a bookstore and they were jaunty and irreverent and full of dark humor.  As I have now discovered, the book pivots shortly thereafter into a fairly maddening morass of nested historical fiction with a lot of vocabulary words I don’t understand (“sjambok,” “internecine,” “cicatrix”).

However! This morning, blinking sleep out of my eyes on a stink-ridden subway and wishing I was back at home in bed, I came across this passage about dreams and thought it was lovely in a sort of pleasantly gloomy way, and so I share.