Across the street from where I'm staying in the Pearl District is Dog Star, a daycare for pets.
All day the barking does not stop. And it's every type of barking—deep, snappy, sharp, throaty. And the cacophony is maddening because barking is a sound that refuses to become more than it is. A bark and the body of a dog are one. No separation is possible. Barking cannot free itself from its source and self-evolve. A book of barking will never happen.
Barking is the shame of the animal kingdom, Deleuze once said. This is a fact. Mooing is far more sensible than barking. The same is true with the whinnying of a horse, or the roar of a lion, or the strange squeaking of a bat. Even in the wolf's howling we find a poetry that is entirely missing in barking.
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