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I have always dreamed that I would one day write incessantly. Writings driven more by feelings of retreat and reassessment than by progression or exploration.
Perhaps I should pick these things up where I abandoned them; Not in a place where an emerging thought might grope towards a conclusion, but rather there where it is dissipated and ruined before it can develop and survive into its own reformulation.
To think :- A practice borne of idleness ; An exercise which cannot find an end without turning language into a lie ; A test which which only fatigue (the passive form of disgust) can forestall.
To think, in the hope of waking from the nightmare of thought itself ; A sudden elucidation, as a lightning bolt makes the haunted landscape spring forth from the terror of night

Luc Richir