mauriac-mob

I’m exhausted, finally, by this mob within me that keeps me from being myself. I suppose one feels the need to be alone in order to grow old and die.

Thought:

“How hard is it, when everything encourages us to sleep, though we may look about us with conscious, clinging eyes, to wake and yet look about us as in a dream, with eyes that no longer know their function and whose gaze is turned inward.”

Antonin Artaud

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