The Vanishing Hour

A good passage

The sloth sleeps for nearly twenty hours a day. He wakes to feed and drink, and then goes back to sleep again. I watched his gangly body in repose and felt certain that sloths knew something people had forgotten. That our real lives were our dream lives, the scenes we played out in our minds. The world was only a place that we visited to refuel for our dreaming. We were only really awake when we’d fallen asleep. Real life hides in hanging from a branch, and closing your eyes, and watching the pictures bleed into one another, like shapes in a coal fire, flickering, budding, burning.