第一の手記.
@talesofmacabre.bsky.social
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THE FIRST NOTEBOOK. ⠀strumming my pain ⠀with his 𝖋ingers. quotes every 10 minutes.
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might it not be that through the innermost recesses of love there courses an unattainable longing in which both the man and the woman desire to become the exact image of the other?
I have noticed that in the photographs of me taken about that time together with my family, the others have serious faces; only mine is invariably contorted into a peculiar smile.
to change the silence of death into the eloquence of life, the aid of steel was essential.
is this it? is this all it was? that thing that caused me so much pain, which constantly made me fret about it’s existence.
but who turned them into such monsters? you samurai did! you did!
knowledge, you realise that things are unchangeable and at the same time are constantly being transformed.
what transforms this world is knowledge. do you see what I mean? nothing else can change anything in this world. knowledge alone is capable of transforming the world, while at the same time leaving it exactly as is. when you look at the world with
from that time on, I was in love with him.
I felt something like a yearning for a piercing sorrow, a body — wrenching sorrow.
I was attacked by unendurable grief.
they diffused that part and made it multiply.
in general, things that were endowed with life would not, like the Golden Temple, have the rigid quality of existing once and for all. human beings were merely allotted one part of nature’s various attributes, and, by an effective method of substitution,
although the goal could never have been love, nor, had it been, could I ever have belonged to the heavens?
might it not be that through the innermost recesses of love there courses an unattainable longing in which both the man and the woman desire to become the exact image of the other?
for me, beauty is always retreating from one’s grasp; the only thing I consider important is what existed once, or ought to have existed.
just as before, I kept this new feeling hidden in my heart, but to my love for the savage there had now been added a love for the graceful and gentle.
my legs carried me running toward something that in any case was not Death —— whatever it was, it was not Death.
before the sea's repletion, a loneliness that outwardly resembled his, I wanted to savor it completely, through his very eyes.
my long — felt attraction toward the loneliness that filled his life —— loneliness born of the fact that life had enslaved him —— had first made me want to possess the same quality; and now that I was experiencing, in this feeling of emptiness
we do not collide with our destiny all of a sudden.
incandescence of waxen wings.
driven by naught save this strange yearning for the higher, and the closer, to plunge myself into the deep sky’s blue, so contrary to all organic joys, so far from pleasures of superiority, but higher, and higher, dazzled perhaps, by the dizzy
is this it? is this all it was? that thing that caused me so much pain, which constantly made me fret about it’s existence.
is the blue of the sky then a dream?