Your room is the most beautiful of desert islands, and Paris is a desert that no-one has ever
traversed. All you really need is your sleep, silence around you, your own silence, stillness. All
you need is for days to begin and end, for time to pass, for your mouth to be shut, for the
muscles in your nape, your jaws and your chin to slacken, for the rising and falling of your
rib-cage, the beating of your heart to be the only evidence of your continuing and patient
To want nothing. Just to wait, until there is nothing left to wait for. Just to wander, and to
sleep. To let yourself be carried along by the crowds, and the streets. To follow the gutters,
the fences, the water's edge. To walk the length of the embankments, to hug the walls. To
waste your time. To have no projects, to feel no impatience. To be without desire, or
resentment, or revolt.
In the course of time your life will be there in front of you: a life without motion, without
crisis and without disorder, a life with no rough edges and no imbalance. Minute by minute,
hour after hour, day after day, season after season, something is going to start that will be
without end: your vegetal existence, your cancelled life.
I started reading it and my thoughts started to wander around. But i forced myself to focus and read the whole thing. I succeded but i didn´t have the feeling it was worth it. And now i forgot what it was about.
>wanting to be a lazy bum