You only say “I didn’t give up” after you actually give up. Are you in danger? Of course not, you had no choice but to offer yourself as a victim, and that’s all right. We all try to hold time still at some point or another, even though time doesn’t stand still.– Page read by ROBERTO CORTEZ.
Posts tagged Abel Magwitch
What’s the difference between sleeping with the clothes you wore through the day, and changing your clothes before falling asleep? We stubbornly refuse to deal with reality until reality surrenders to us and gives us what we think and believe belongs to us.– Page read by JAEGER SMITH.
The mud down my throat makes me speak slushy. It’s not that I’m weak to meditate, I just can’t afford to do anything with that voice. The weather forecast let you down because you’re too nice. Just be quiet now.
The absence of air in a room with no windows and piles of dirty and clean clothes mixed together, unfolded. Unpaired shoes are littering the floor, there is nothing left to do. Your starring role is to play someone who feels less alone than you. Sorry, your horoscope lied to you today. Page read by NORA BERMAN.
Are we in the same boat? I guess we are, although it seems we’re going always against the current. Should we steer towards somewhere? Or should we let fortune take us? Letting paper boats go with a wish feels so nice. Page read by Kat Belolli.
Why should I bother? What is the meaning of all this? Why should I raise questions? It would be better if I would continue burying my emotions under layers of undisturbed expression, composed, contented, submissive, alone, in the company of ridiculous illusions.
8:40 AM: The Havisham Hour. Day/Page/Sketch 462 of 513 from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations. –I am indifferent when I am not disposed. I am not passive when I am resigned. When you create, you endanger your freedom and that makes some people uncomfortable. Freedom is not the absence of danger, as we are made to believe.– Page read by KATHRYN GARCIA here: http://goo.gl/XBMg1e. Visit http://www.HavishamHour.com to order fine prints, listen to previous podcasts, and to learn more about this project. ©2014 Julio Panisello.
(In) Excuse me, are we a little boat? (Out) Never! (In) My mom says it won’t last. (Out) Everybody knows that! (In) Is this a trick? (Out) I need some beauty before I die. In and out, in and out, in and out.
On those situations when I pretend not to see someone, and they pretend not to see me: a deserter scatters and divulges himself out of fear and in spite of it. In the surrender to himself, he will be ruined and wrecked.
What’s my narrative? I don’t know. Today I abhor the turpitude of my dreams last night, which were crowded with syrupy specters that were burning my eyes while I was trying to escape the puppet theater of my bodily existence. But tomorrow’s narrative, who knows? In fact, everything may change right after breakfast.
The time has gone through the garbage disposal, and with it the corrupted memories. I turned the switch on so the detritus goes down the drain, all the way to the sewage, where it belongs, washed away with someone’s putrid bodily fluids. it has slipped through without a trace. I don’t even remember what this writing is about.
I confronted a stranger once on the street. I noticed my blood rushing to my head and at the same time I got frozen. I didn’t have any mobility. Right after I felt pain in my heart. My lungs hurt, my chest was sore. I felt I needed to inhale as much air as possible and retained it for as long as possible.