Sketch #453

When there is no grain of hope left but things eventually and luckily change for the better, some of us remember that dark place we came out of, some of us simply forget.

Day/Page/Sketch #452

Life flashes before my eyes quite frequently. I do see portions of it play in fast forward before my lungs exhale. But then I inhale again and move on living.

Day/Page/Sketch #451

I can see pain in someone’s eyes, I don’t need to see tears.

Day/Page/Sketch #450

Every time I attend a funeral it seems the person who just left lived an impeccable life, a flawless existence. No one wants to remember the struggles, the omissions, the agony and doubt. No one wants to remember the crisis and the chaos. No one tells you that we exist as long as we suffer.

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Day/Page/Sketch #449

Why are we always encouraged to pardon our enemies, to learn from them, to conquer them with love? I’m not interested in that kind of salvation, not fond of any kind of lesson in there. I like to keep my doubts, I like to settle my thoughts. I have no problem embracing scorn.

Day/Page/Sketch #448

What’s tremendous about being subjected against your will is not the suffering or the subjection itself. It is grasping the fact that another person has control over you. They decide what you will hear, do, and feel. Is it love or is it pain?

Day/Page/Sketch #447

Fear has a bitter cold taste, and it’s painful. It is always uninvited and unexpected and it leaves on its own terms. Fear makes us hurt ourselves, it overwhelms us. You can’t look at it, you can’t scape from it, you can’t divide it, and you can’t forget it.

Day/Page/Sketch #446

Is it true that everyone you meet is fighting a greater battle than you? Is that why we have to be kind all the time? Plato leaves me perplexed sometimes.

Day/Page/Sketch #445

When are struck by our own thanklessness? Pretty much never. We’re unbelievers, enamored of debris and the need of an audience. Even self-loathing becomes a narcissistic spectacle.

Day/Page/Sketch #444

We are selectively and blindly ungrateful. We unconsciously decide who to appreciate and who to disown, and that usually changes each day. We are superficial by nature, only concerned with events and not with their consequences. We are selfish by nature, only concerned with people in relation to us and not from their own point of view.

Day/Page/Sketch #443

We’re bad at remembering things, that’s why we write in the first place, and also that’s why we become artists, so we stop losing important information. I like to hold on to things I love after they’re gone.

Day/Page/Sketch #442

Precautions become the law of the matter against beautiful hindrances. Our vocabulary is so limited when we address them, we repeat the same words until they weaken and die. On top of it, we are afraid of writing ill-written letters to them.