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17 The Holy Ghost Develops Binge/Purge Syndrome The Holy Ghost eats salt, shoves it into His flaccid mouth by the fistful, knuckles first, with the unfocussed grip of a one-year-old. He’s drawn to salt—it lacks color, as He does, it dissolves and disappears. He gulps the humble crystal rubble with a lurch of slackspirit Adam’s apple. It’s substance He covets: gristle, cuticle, an anchor point for the Triangle. Some scars, a stone bruise, even a stye might peg this sagging mystery. He tries to deny the thirst that comes later, the state-change, sucking the heat out of Him, fingers swelling into almost visible cloud trails, the shame He feels when the vapor condenses —breath against a cold mirror— and falls away from Him out of the sky. ...

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