第一の手記.
@talesofmacabre.bsky.social
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THE FIRST NOTEBOOK. ⠀strumming my pain ⠀with his 𝖋ingers. quotes every 10 minutes.
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talesofmacabre.bsky.social
when one considers well, it seems likely that many a time, even in the midst of a sweet kiss, a foretaste of the agony of death must have furrowed his brow with a fleeting shadow of pain.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
mine has been a life of shame.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
knowledge is the sea of humanity, the field of humanity, the general condition of human existence.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
I was mistaking the fierce, impossible desire of not wanting to be myself for the sexual desire of a man of the world, for the desire that arises from his being himself.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
struck us as being a strangely volatile thing.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
the war had produced a strangely sentimental maturity in us. it arose from our thinking of life as something that would end abruptly in our twenties; we never even considered the possibility of there being anything beyond those few remaining years. life
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
the more you carefully examine the child‘s smiling face the more you feel an indescribable, unspeakable horror creeping over you.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
other people are all witnesses. if no other people exist, shame would not be born in the world.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
then I noticed the pack of cigarettes in my other pocket. I took one out and started smoking. I felt like a man who settles down for a smoke after a job of work. I wanted to live.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
why, when balance has been strictly studied and flight calculated with the best of reason, till no aberrant elements, by rights, remain—— why, still, should the lust for the ascension seem, in itself, close to madness?
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
is the blue of the sky then a dream?
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
they rejected both life and death as I has seen them, for in both of these, the sun had a hand.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
I believed optimistically that once the performance was finished the curtain would fall and the audience would never see the actor without his make — up.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
he had dreamt at dawn —— ill — omened magpies flocking in his breast, covering his mouth with flapping wings —— and not yet had it vanished from his pillow.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
executed is constantly, every time he sees a telegraph pole on his way to work, every time he passes a railway crossing, drawing an image in his mind of the execution site, and is becoming familiar with that image.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
encountered for the first time, and I felt that I was being led by such resemblances into the inner recesses of the corridor, some fathomless inner chamber. we do not collide with our destiny all of a sudden. the man who later in his life is to be
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
a type of cipher seemed to operate in my general experience of life. as in a corridor of mirrors, a single image is reflected again, and again to an endless depth. things that I had seen in the past were clearly reflected on those that I had
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
the only constant within the universe is change.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
what more could I have done when I did not know that to love is both to seek and to be sought? for me love was nothing but a dialogue of little riddles, with no answers given.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
unanswered signal of a telephone ringing in a dark room of a distant city.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
I am the man who comes and goes between the bar and the telephone booth. or, rather: that man is called “ I “ and you know nothing else about him, just as this station is called only “ station “ and beyond it there exists nothing except the
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
dazzled perhaps, by the dizzy incandescence of waxen wings.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
is this it? is this all it was? that thing that caused me so much pain, which constantly made me fret about it’s existence.
talesofmacabre.bsky.social
timber, was trembling in anticipation of nothingness, like a jeweled necklace tremoling in the wind.