In the path to something
Antes Before,
after, front and back.
The only real moment is the moment of the decision.
Flip a coin. Repeat until you fail.
Demain je ne fumerai pas.
It’s only a tragedy. The hero and the humble, moderation and concern comes as disguises from precious mistakes. Empty glasses, broken. Candles, burned out. There’s a chance to start over again, and again and again. Wait until it fails. You’ll see no difference from the first try. Try and see.
12:07
There’s a place I need to go.
I’m late.
07:07
Someone is boiling water will grinding
some coffee beans.
23:07
A man inside a boat goes to sleep.
I t’s only a mistake. The priest and the butcher, concentration and surprise comes as confusion as you read a very bad poem. Full bottles of wine. Bright neon lights shining. There’s no chance to see the same thing twice. Try and see.
“ And specious stuff that says
No rational being Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound, No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will (...)” 1
1
Aubade, Philip Larkin
.
Mármol, 2022