Paper Absorbtion Science Project

Hebdomad per XVIII annum

I continue Sophie's Choice, a novel that I read, which I love writing, while the story itself, a priori, nothing to get excited (I I also read all the summary on wikipedia). But I love the writing and the narrative.

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I'm a fan of bento that I made for my birthday offer.

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Two or three times this week dreamed of psychiatric consultations with one or two doctors, but of the soul. Dreams of lessons, though no major announcements Underworld, because I hardly remember. That night, a doctor or psychiatrist to gray hair. Had I speak of my moments of despair? He questioned me: "Do you really know despair? No pain black night, but the gray point, flat, where they remain motionless, where you write more?" I stopped in my cinoche net, and had to admit: "No." "So you never known / experienced despair? "" No. "And that's it. I do not know if it was a reproach, a tune or perhaps, too, at the same time, a way of saying I did not have to denigrate that much, that my case was not as "desperate", exactly.

I had forgotten that dream. suddenly I remembered reading the next day this passage:

And, likewise, can not write to have originated in the real despair, one that did not invite to anything and everything and away first withdraws his pen to the writer. This means that the two movements have nothing in common but their own uncertainty, have nothing in common but the interrogative mode in which one can only grasp them. Nobody can say to yourself: "I'm desperate," but "you're desperate?" and nobody can say: "I write," but only "you write" Yes "you write?" M. Blanchot, Kafka Kafka From .

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This morning, unable to get their hands on my ipod. I must go. I tell myself it will be an opportunity to listen to something else, the sounds of summer and in the morning. In fact, I am struck by all its ugliness. The high-pitched chirps of brat, all busy making a crisis on my way, cars, electric gates roaring, or chatter, everything is loud, discordant, arduous, human sounds such as mechanical sounds. Certainly, apart from the non-silence of nature, I do hear the music.

Then the idea struck me that I bear the least, such piercing shrieks of the brats should be about the fact that I am the angels of the spheres whenever I start rage (domestic) or I growl, for a yes or a no, for example its paumer iPod at home, or put herself in a bad mood at the sight of an apartment in disarray: it is also jarring, unwanted and stupid, and I guess in the heights, we must also sigh and stopped their ears: "Seriously it grow a little!"

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When things outside and inside bother me, I get an extreme physical clumsiness. I do all fall - or falls from my hands - I hit, I lose everything. At first I thought that was precisely the effect of my impatience and bad temper: it is more in harmony with the world, so he takes revenge, but in fact, I wonder if this is not his message, his wise advice: "Forget it, let go of everything!" I'll make my profit. Same for the Missing something (I always forget everything): "Exactly, forget everything, you crazy-everything, leave it behind you, it's not you, it does not belong to you more if you cowards. "