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Extract from Derek Raymond, The Hidden Files:

(This is too painful to go over - memory stumbling over widows in the dark, disturbing the sleep of the dead, goddesses turned to web, flakes of gilt from old masks shredding at forgotten, jarring sounds, goddesses with the blackest eyes of all, the eyeless ones, stirring, sitting up, scraping their bones together with the noise of an old woman's shoes being put on in a confused attic, caught in a moment of long forgotten fear, beauty that was created only so that others would remember it as it was stirring, surprised in its longest sleep because of you, the dead moving because of you. You, intruding with your insolence of being alive, making shades ache, stir and sit up while you crash about among them with your memory, treading on them, making the dead walk against their will, lighting them, forcing them away from the last black wall of their sleep where they lie huddled up with their past faces turned blankly away from all terror and taking up no room.)