Salman Rushdie

[…] because when you throw everything up in the air anything becomes possible – wayupthere, at any rate, changes took place in delirious actors that would have gladdened the heart of old Mr Lamarck […] Mirza Saeed drew up the chick blinds and fastened their cords. Damnfool thing to be asking. Might as well inquire, what possessed you to rush in here? The body of Al-Lat has shrivelled on the grass, leaving behind only a dark stain; and now every clock in the capital city of Desh begins to chime, and goes on unceasingly, beyond twelve, beyond twenty-four, beyond one thousand and one, announcing the end of Time, the hour that is beyond measuring, the hour of the exile's return, of the victory of water over wine, of the commencement of the Untime of the Imam. On clear nights when the moon was full, she waited for its shining revenant ghost.