Let’s conjugate Fate: I was, I am, I will… How contemptuous. Enduring existence is such a wearing occupation, such an impractical career. Everybody should know their own business.
Posts tagged Mr Wemmick
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Day/Page/Sketch #415
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #414
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #413
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #412
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #411
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #410
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #409
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.
Day/Page/Sketch #392
Solemn whispers determine nothing. they can’t bloom. They are a kind of preposterous metaphor. Everything conspires to harm you and there is nothing you can do against it. Everyone is miserable but just a few know it.
Day/Page/Sketch #391
I am rusty, you are rusty, he is rusty. I attempt to plunge to nothingness. I dare you to find something more pathetic. How will you defend yourself? I love Tom, Jack, and Richard, but that doesn’t matter.
Day/Page/Sketch #390
Don’t break cover too soon. Lie close. Disaster is too exact. It has all the reasons on its inside.
Day/Page/Sketch #389
Being constantly worried means to think of oneself constantly, incapable to visualize a neutral path forward. In this fragile state you want to be considered invisible and you want people to be completely ignorant of your proceedings. Except that, deep in your mind, you really don’t want that, you want the opposite of that.
Day/Page/Sketch #388
Glued to ourselves, we’re unable to leave the course imbedded in our own misery. Maybe that’s why we love things that are official, so we don’t have to think or take responsibilities. We especially love things that are extra official. It’s fun being evasive, isn’t it?
Day/Page/Sketch #316
A few times in my life I’ve had the feeling of getting to a turning point, a specific moment when I knew my expectations would not be deceiving and so they didn’t have to be lowered. It’s happened perhaps only twice, maybe 3 times? I think that’s plenty.
Day/Page/Sketch #315
It seems like today no one gives out patronage to other people without seeking recognition. The Good Samaritan doesn’t want to remain silent and anonymous anymore, but rather expects being in the spotlight, anticipating the applause, presuming the attention.
Special thanks to the Bouvier Beale family http://www.greygardenscollections.com.