For if anyone missed me: she was not dead. Nor, unfortunately, was on a binge. Hopefully. The only thing that happens is a laburo me mad, absorbing and exhausting. And strange to write here. Strange banging the keyboard with extraordinary joy, so be it for venting.
While back, I leave this little piece won out there.
"Like you, I've tried to fight with all my strength against forgetting. Like you, I forgot. Like you, I wanted to have an inconsolable memory. A memory of shadows and stones. I struggled on my own. With all my strength. Against the horror of not understanding and the need to remember. Like you, I forgot.
Why deny the obvious need for memory? Listen. I still know. Start again. Two hundred thousand dead. Eighty thousand wounded in nine seconds, are official figures. Start again. There will be ten thousand degrees on the earth. Ten thousand suns, they will say. The asphalt will burn and a deep chaos reign. A city will be destroyed then and will become ashes. I meet you, I remember you, who are you? You kill me, give me pleasure.
How do you know that this city was made for love? How do you know your body was made for me? I like you, what event, I like. How slowly, suddenly. How sweet. You can not know. You kill me, give me pleasure. Kill me. You give me pleasure. I have time, I beg you, Devour me. Why do not you, in this city tonight? So similar to the others as to confuse ... "
[Marguerite Duras. Hiroshima mon amour ]
***
"I do not care what the faux pas that makes you fall on my body" Marguerite Yourcenar 
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