One day, one page, one sketch of GREAT EXPECTATIONS, published daily at 8:40 AM.
Living in a permanent isolating cell, overwhelmed with our amplified selfish struggles, we could not live day after day if the chance of terminating our life on our own terms would not make us begin things over and over again. Until the moment it doesn’t.
I felt before a strong presentiment that either something was about to happen, or that something was never going to happen again. The sense of premonition was so compelling, so explicit. Luckily, the chances of things actually happening, or not happening, is 50-50. Acting on presentiments alone will most likely destroy you and isolate you.
The best way to shake away any lingering regrets, no matter how small, is to tell our story, without any commiseration.
When we are offered an open door out of our bitter isolation and despair, we stubbornly refuse to go out that way. When we’re sidestepping near to a bottomless abyss that will destroy us, we feel we deserve to jump in. By nature, we always choose wrong first, maybe because we refuse to live an insipid an talentless life?
Knowledge has no advantage. There is no progression, no conclusion. It is as opulent and blank in the end as it is in the beginning. An idiot can experience enlightenment and still be an idiot.
Are you very unhappy now?
How do you stop being a darling? #1: cultivate and air of utter loneliness; #2: become all stone; #3: act tremulously.
You can’t avoid the daily debris with artificial essays. You just go through it. It’s terrible and wonderful, fragrant and sour.
We managed to pull through monotony armed with a very limited vocabulary. It’s a numbing mechanism. The less words we use to describe a feeling, the easier it is to forget it. We communicate by omission.
Sometimes people don’t show they like you, they avoid at all costs the slight suspicion that you may be thinking they think you are doing something right. Sometimes the confronting silence of being disdained by others actually means you are succeeding. Don’t expect many people to be happy for you.
We are always comparing what we are with what we should be: richer, more recognized, more renowned, more erudite, more loving, more artistic, more traveled, younger looking. And in the meantime, we squander hours waiting for more hours, while we dry the sap off our senses and the blood from our veins complaining about the mediocrity of our life.
Repeat to yourself a thousand times a day: “there are emotions that can’t be tamed”. Nothing on Earth is worth circling them eternally. Don’t commit to keeping them locked down or you will get sick.
Time takes a small unit of disaster, something almost unnoticeable, and multiplies this unit endlessly until it becomes unbearable. You can’t stop it. It grows in solitude, nameless.
The stronger ones always win in the end, but they have to endure and suffer the consequences just like everybody else, and in the end of the end, they end up cancelling themselves out and leaving the earth behind them scattered with corpses.
Destroying an idol is not a walk in the park. It takes much longer than the time it took to worship it. But it’s not impossible. The problem is that it may die one day, but the melancholy of it will resuscitate it again the next.
The Havisham Hour 