“There is not a minute in my day when I am free of the sensation of walking a footbridge half a meter wide between two yawning chasms of nothingness. And it is this word, “nothing,” that I find every moment on the tip of my tongue…
Sometimes I vent by filling an entire page of the present diary with these sacred syllables, “No-thing.” Then, all of a sudden, confidence restored and self imbued with physical wellbeing, as after a shower or a successful defecation, I turn over a new leaf and start writing things again. How could I do otherwise? If in a game one can only cheat or lose, one cheats.
Ever since I have discovered that my dreams are nearly always self-slanders or spiteful gossip at my expense, I don’t pay them much attention, I simply brush them aside. And yet this latest one, with its masked and menacing folly of unreason, leaves a lump in my throat.”
–Gesualdo Bufalino
Tommaso and the Blind Photographer
“There is not a minute in my day when I am free of the sensation of walking a footbridge half a meter wide between two yawning chasms of nothingness. And it is this word, “nothing,” that I find every moment on the tip of my tongue…
Sometimes I vent by filling an entire page of the present diary with these sacred syllables, “No-thing.” Then, all of a sudden, confidence restored and self imbued with physical wellbeing, as after a shower or a successful defecation, I turn over a new leaf and start writing things again. How could I do otherwise? If in a game one can only cheat or lose, one cheats.
Ever since I have discovered that my dreams are nearly always self-slanders or spiteful gossip at my expense, I don’t pay them much attention, I simply brush them aside. And yet this latest one, with its masked and menacing folly of unreason, leaves a lump in my throat.”
–Gesualdo Bufalino
Tommaso and the Blind Photographer
