It has been some time since I devoted a whole day to reading a novel. I found I had forgotten how it is to take a step out of reality. Fiction allows this. It permits me to bury my existence under the words, to swamp it with the lives of others, to remove my consciousness to another sphere where everything is given. My attention is directed, my emotions controlled. I am momentarily removed.
In the end I must come back.
While surfacing I pause to marvel at how internalised my experience of the day has been. My teeth feel loose and my voice having been redundant is now reluctant to make impressions on the air. I feel as if I am still one step removed from this reality, as if I cannot impact upon it, only observe. The moment I speak I will be returned completely but until then I may remain insulated and distant in the space between.
365-09 #27
In the end I must come back.
While surfacing I pause to marvel at how internalised my experience of the day has been. My teeth feel loose and my voice having been redundant is now reluctant to make impressions on the air. I feel as if I am still one step removed from this reality, as if I cannot impact upon it, only observe. The moment I speak I will be returned completely but until then I may remain insulated and distant in the space between.
365-09 #27
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