Cosmos

namely that he and I were both sinking, each in his own creations, in his own way, he in the past, I in all those trifling details

something else was preoccupying me, something that had no flesh, it was the relation of the speed with which closer objects came and went, to the slower coming and going of objects farther away, and also in comparison to the quite distant ones that almost stood still—that’s what was preoccupying me. I thought that during a ride objects appear, only to disappear, objects are unimportant, the landscape is unimportant, the only thing that is left is appearance and disappearance. A tree. A field. Another tree. It passes

and the house is there, while we are moving farther and farther away

and maybe, by doing just about anything, one will force reality to emerge, just like throwing any old thing into the bushes when something indistinct is moving there) . . . yes, yes, was strangling the cat my infuriated response to the provocation of the nonsense of the kettle? . . .

like a schoolgirl squealing to the principal on her classmates:

Why does one have to suffer from the favor and disfavor of associations?

if I could appropriately decipher the arrangement of those places and things, I might find out the truth about my having strangled the cat

it was done to you, and if to you, then passion was the only reason, and who to suspect if not the recently arrived, two young men?” Oh, what bliss! The bliss of the cat becoming a love-cat! . . . look out though, there is danger!

Love, love—my foot, passion, yes, but what sort? It all began because I didn’t know, just didn’t know who she was, what she was like, she was complex, blurry, inscrutable (as I had thought while staring at the continents, archipelagos, and nebulae of the ceiling), she was intangible and tiresome, I could imagine her this way or that, in a hundred thousand situations, consider her from one side or another, lose her, then find her again, turn her every which way (I wove my trend of thought as I was looking over the terrain between the house and the kitchen, watching the little white trees tied to stakes with ropes), but there could be no doubt that her emptiness was sucking me in, soaking me up, it was she and she alone, yes, yes, but, I wondered, as my eyes became lost in the twists and turns of the bent, damaged drainpipe, what did I want with her? To caress? To torture? To humiliate? To adore?

it reminded me of a dance when the music suddenly stops and all the couples stand dumbstruck, it was all so stupid