I already felt old shortly after birth;
The others fought, desired, sighed;
In me I felt nothing but a vague longing.
I never had anything like a childhood.
Deep in certain woods, on a carpet of moss,
Disgusting tree trunks survive their foliage;
Around them an atmosphere of mourning forms;
Fungi thrive on his blackened and dirty skin.
I never served anything or anyone;
Pity. You live badly when it is for yourself.
The slightest movement is a problem,
You feel miserable and yet important.
You move vaguely, like a tiny bug.
You are hardly anything anymore, but what a bad time you have!
You carry with you a kind of abyss
Mean and portable, slightly ridiculous.
You stop seeing death as something fatal;
From time to time you laugh; especially at the beginning;
You try in vain to adopt contempt.
Then you accept everything, and death does the rest.
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Oh this... I’m so busy packing and moving my life... and I stopped for two minutes..
In the maelstrom moments.. it’s words that calm me, fulfil me, detach me, awake me, drown me, awake me and when I’m lost, they find and lead me. Words bring me back to life...
It’s the moments of others lives so honestly written that give me strength to live my life authentically and powerfully.
Even though i may stumble often, fall I will not..
Whenever I'm depressed I watch this clip of Houllebecq dancing incredibly awkwardly, but with outrageous zeal, to Black Sabbath: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8tmCQUURiY
Also, a recommendation - I'm looking into doing some writing on a classic typewriter and loved the vibes of this dude: https://www.classictypewriter.com/our-story
You might have something in common.