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Do
n't
think
of
the
word
searing
or
flesh
or
tissue
or
charred
.
Do
n't
hear
yourself
cry
.
Guided
meditation
.
You
're
in
Ireland
.
Close
your
eyes
.
You
're
in
Ireland
the
summer
after
you
left
college
,
and
you
're
drinking
at
a
pub
near
the
castle
where
every
day
busloads
of
English
and
American
tourists
come
to
kiss
the
Blarney
stone
.
"
Do
n't
shut
this
out
,
"
Tyler
says
.
"
Soap
and
human
sacrifice
go
hand
in
hand
.
"
You
leave
the
pub
in
a
stream
of
men
,
walking
through
the
beaded
wet
car
silence
of
streets
where
it
's
just
rained
.
It
's
night
.
Until
you
get
to
the
Blarneystone
castle
.
The
floors
in
the
castle
are
rotted
away
,
and
you
climb
the
rock
stairs
with
blackness
getting
deeper
and
deeper
on
every
side
with
every
step
up
.
Everybody
is
quiet
with
the
climb
and
the
tradition
of
this
little
act
of
rebellion
.
"
Listen
to
me
,
"
Tyler
says
.
"
Open
your
eyes
.
"
In
ancient
history
,
"
Tyler
says
,
"
human
sacrifices
were
made
on
a
hill
above
a
river
.
Thousands
of
people
.
Listen
to
me
.
The
sacrifices
were
made
and
the
bodies
were
burned
on
a
pyre
.
