265- Contradictions of Being
The idea of travelling seduces me vicariously, as if it were the perfect idea for seducing someone I'm not. All the world's vast panorama traverses my alert imagination like a colorful tedium; I trace a desire as one who's tired of making gestures.
And as with journeys, so with books, and as with books, so with everything....I dream of an erudite life in the quiet company of the ancients and the moderns, a life in which I would renew my emotions via the emotions of others, and fill myself with contradictory thoughts based on the contradiction between the meditators and those who almost thought.
The very idea of reading vanishes as soon as I pick up a book from the table, the physical act of reading abolishing all desire to read. In the same way, the idea of travelling withers if I happen to go near a port of departure. I return to the two things that I am certain of: my daily life as an inconspicuous passer-by and the waking insomnia of my dreams.
So with everything...As soon as something occurs to me that might interrupt the silent procession of my days, I lift my eyes with heavy protest towards the sylph who belongs to me and who might have been a siren had she only learned to sing.
And as with journeys, so with books, and as with books, so with everything....I dream of an erudite life in the quiet company of the ancients and the moderns, a life in which I would renew my emotions via the emotions of others, and fill myself with contradictory thoughts based on the contradiction between the meditators and those who almost thought.
The very idea of reading vanishes as soon as I pick up a book from the table, the physical act of reading abolishing all desire to read. In the same way, the idea of travelling withers if I happen to go near a port of departure. I return to the two things that I am certain of: my daily life as an inconspicuous passer-by and the waking insomnia of my dreams.
So with everything...As soon as something occurs to me that might interrupt the silent procession of my days, I lift my eyes with heavy protest towards the sylph who belongs to me and who might have been a siren had she only learned to sing.
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