you cannot beat teleology with a stick
A continuance. A delirium, in many ways a pleasant delirium. If the reserves drain—but one must not think of the reserves draining. One must not think of anything. This book is a boulder rolling down a hill. You know what happens if you step in front of it.
At the cat's insistence, spending more time in the backyard. I love the backyard, I love so much.
The idea of the summer was an idea of emptiness. The summer, of course, is full. Why must everything be filled—simply because I'm going to die one day? Because there are still people fuller than me, quicker than me?
I once had an idea of getting a little money, digging it out of the ground or something, and buying a house, because in a life without children, a house is a terminus. It really seemed like the last thing I would have to do. You buy a house, you paint the walls whatever color you please, and then you can leave the world. That was ludicrous, of course, but I feel as if I am still guiding myself by some similar narrative—only what on earth has replaced the house this time? Where does it end?
