S̶e̶a̶n̶’s Reviews > On the mountain: Rescue attempt, nonsense > Status Update

Sunday mornings: stony calm, rent by the screaming of crows, pervasive stench from the pissoirs, seeping through the sky, seeping through the poetry of the alleyways, streets, and squares...

In the afternoon my fatigue rapidly gets the better of me, reaching its high point in the evening, the fatigue that comes from looking at people, from looking at commotion: people, the world, there's always commotion: the torment of commotion: once darkness falls and my fatigue lessens, the fatigue goes away: those who don't see anything don't get tired...

my dear man, she says, you'll erase yourself if you erase anything more from the manuscript, you'll delete yourself, wipe yourself out, altogether, over the years you've quite consistently erased yourself out of your manuscript, you've erased yourself to death, simply erased yourself to death...

I focus on the distance, I always have the distance and the highest heights in view, but what is close by will destroy me, the depth will obliterate me,
a victim of the infinite distances, a victim of what is infinitely close at hand...