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The cauldrons of insomnia

Modifié le : 2019/07/31

Insom­nia looks like day­light. Excit­ed, the mind per­ceives every glow, hears every noise, feels every mood. The rea­son is broad, intox­i­cat­ed for caus­es that reach the heart. In real­i­ty, the mind lis­tens to its body.

I ate oys­ters, acras, and fish fil­let for din­ner, all skil­ful­ly dilut­ed in a few glass­es of nut­meg. My stom­ach protest­ed so well that it kept the fur­nace active. I am unable to sleep with this noise. That’s all it took to dream abun­dant­ly, to believe that you are the vic­tim of a plot, to solve it by wak­ing up and then to dive back into anoth­er labyrinth of nonsense.

If the brain gets lost so eas­i­ly with a few grams of food, how could it not be affect­ed by the air of the times, the jolts of the peo­ples, the attrac­tion of the Moon and the dis­tant call of the black holes ?

For­tu­nate­ly, there is a day to pro­vide us with some resem­blance of certainty.

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