Calm, with an empty mind

Calm, with an emp­ty mind, it seems to me, with all its willpow­er. My days are like that : I have plans, expec­ta­tions, some hopes. But it’s only Mon­day, and I don’t have a job to do. I would rather sleep, take a long lux­u­ri­ous vaca­tion dur­ing which time is gold that is wast­ed by turn­ing it into water.

The after­noon receives its snow. My desk is upside down since it is dead, gen­tly motion­less. I slumped to Die Leg­ende vom Toten Sol­dat­en (The Leg­end of the Dead Sol­dier), then let the accom­pa­ni­ment of my Con­cone slip away. Com­pared to the Weill, these melodies taste like a sug­ar bour­geois that could be heard in the sta­bles along with Mozart’s melodies.

Every­thing is so bad in the world while every­thing is lived with­out a storm in the more than cozy com­fort of my life. It is nei­ther hap­pi­ness nor anguish. It’s a lit­tle bit of all this to the point of hav­ing lit­tle hic­cups and nausea.