Strange how paranoia can link up with reality now and then, briefly.
So books are real to me, too; they link me not just with other minds but with the vision of other minds, what those minds understand and see. I see their worlds as well as I see my own.
Reality denied comes back to haunt.
Place there is none; we go backward and forward, and there is no place.[St. Augustine]
Pigs and fishes are least intelligent of all; hard to convince.
Perhaps if you know you are insane then you are not insane. Or you are becoming sane, finally. Waking up.
Only in a perfect flight from nothingness is Being to be found in all its purity.[St. Bonaventura]
On some other world, possibly it is different. Better. There are clear good and evil alternatives. Not these obscure admixtures, these blends, with no proper tool by which to untangle the components.
No single thing abides; and all things are f***ed up.
No man is infinitely strong; for every creature that runs, flies, hops or crawls there is a terminal nemesis which he will not circumvent, which will finally do him in.
Never walk over a writer, I said to myself, unless you’re positive he can’t rise up behind you. If you’re going to burn him, make sure he’s dead. Because if he’s alive, he will talk: talk in written form, on the printed, permanent page.
Matter is plastic in the face of Mind.
