*break*

*we shall return after this very important but brief interruption

Where was I when I was only pretending to be there?

What far-off spaces was the grimacing youngster inhabiting 

without leaving the living room or classroom?

In what direction was he spooling his thread?

As a rule,

I was moving backwards in time 

ravenously hungry for the bloody entrails of history 

and mad about the Pitch-Dark Ages 

or the Baroque interim 

of a war lasting thirty years.

Peeling the Onion

Günter Grass