A simple life

I want to live in a Japanese house, with clean surfaces, and no visible objects. No protuberance. Only surfaces. Objects merged within surfaces.
   Comes a time where too much pressure bundles like protuberances within a life, where all this pressure assembles a global obstruction to anything.
  Then comes a moment of re-invention of the space.
   A place such as Galatea where nothing exists but a request to speak the right words, the utmost difficulty (here reduced, in compartments, automated, but in real life open, open to research, undecided until solved).
     A place like a forest, where natural objects bundles in the surface of Nature.
   Like a church, where religious objects assembles in one vision, one message.
 An empty place offering resources to push back on everything else.
I want to be old enough to stop feeling anything, and young enough to not care, to not be obstructed by myself.

I want Time to give itself to me, for what it is exactly, a present void, a null entity that I can measure entirely, without disruptions.

What is easier:  to measure a piece of time or a piece of space ? I think we feel it's the latter, we trust our eyes and fear that time is rebellious, can't be trusted.
There are higher levels of awareness that permit a better sense, an aware ascetism of the self.

I want to live in the North, in Glenn Gould's North , in a moment between 2 notes, a respite.
I want to think when I decide so, to focus on what I decide, to feel an experience consciously separated from past and possibilities. "Past & Possibilities": like two brothers from Hell.

A clear time of vacating from oneself, the emptiness, energy source.

Nonsense

"Electric car" shouts the electric car, beep, people walking really fast both ways - Altanta airport.
What's the use of describing - wish I had the ease of writing (the pretention of having an audience, for sure, pretention of the crook).
Passing by, so many, just like any other.

I feel I touched the heart of human population, that nest
      whereabout and seemingly various beings
Balance in-out, writing, reading, the way of life, searching for duality, everywhere, having a detector - A man knew of the powers around him, the forces in presence of each environment he would travel through, and he was aware of the tensions, could he shut down his sensibility?
Someone passing by for the tenth time.

Having notes, tracking the fluxes, as temporary relieve of reception? Hiding behind the activity of tracking time and movements
There is no cornerstone to duality, and no duality is specifically human, it's all already there.

L'organe-obstacle de la dualite, c'est elle-même - le reflet du reflet est lui même un reflet, il n'est pas lui-même mais lui ressemble beaucoup.
Voir, percevoir, recevoir, bientot savoir
La poesie comme liberation? Il faudrait traduire, pour les autres.
Personne ne voit, l'interstice.
Point d'interrogation, point de connaissance.
De l'interrogation comme maniere d'apprendre, technique de raisonnement comme passage vers la memoire.
le Memoire, Memory, Memory is a bubble bath. (not a quiet lake).
"Awesome", they say. the corridor is long.

Apprendre l'histoire comme le combat de l'homme sur la nature et lui-meme, mais ce ne sont que des variations, des histoires.  Apprendre l'histoire parce qu'on aurait fait pareil, parce qu'on continue de conquerir, de trahir, parce que c'est beau, parce que c'est là.
La dualite de l'histoire: les monde parallelles du present (et si Charlemagne n'avait pas été couronné? et si l'edit de Nantes...? et si Ravaillac avait manqué Henri IV ?...)
Forcer l'histoire comme une story, une stoire? Pourquoi?
Ne pas voir les relations.

Ne jamais oublier que la vie agit comme la mer sur nos yeux facilement captés, attrapés, pèchés par n'importe quel mouvement comme si c'etait la vie, et l'on se projète sur n'importe quel morceau d'ajitation (c'est pourquoi la campagne, le retrait du mouvement, c'est comme la ville: moins de vent, sans bruit, les grandes villes, grands espaces de vide. pourquoi la nuit est-elle si intéressante? Le désert? Se mettre dans une chambre noire, se mettre dehors dans la nuit: même chose? Le silence nocturne envahissant, la presque-lumiere, l' "à peine" des sensations.
(Charles du Bois decrit Gide comme l'eau du verre, qui transparait toujours sans apparaitre - le trouble et le gris de Glenn Gould)
Sympathie des passants.
J'aurai pu voir certaines choses.
Keeping track of so many details.

J'aimerai que les gens soient sympathiques, il faudrait pouvoir avancer sans inquietude.
L'Homme-singe, ca n'est pas un être, c'est une duliate très présente.

Compassion

From Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being : compassion in all Latin languages is made from the prefix con = with and a suffix derived from passio = pain, so compassion means one suffers if someone else suffers, and is close to pity, where one lowers oneself to the lower state of someone else in a caring way, probably to raise the other a little bit. But compassion is a low feeling compared to love and thus isn't associated as a romantic sensation.
Whereas, in german/slavic (?) languages, compassion's closest translation are words made from the same prefix (con = with) but suffixes meaning feeling instead of pain. So compassion is an almost telepathic ability to feel any sensation along the other, it's the highest feeling - part of lofe, justifying and explaining it.
So what happens if one has a supreme compassion for the other, a sort of fantastic problem solving tool I suppose. But what happens if both have that ability - infinite mirror effect happening all along a couple's daily life, random events shared ultimately. Does it lead to a too strong coexistence? a too tight sharing of emotions, making brustle the slightest difference, the slighest lie or mistake. Would it amplify in too large proportions the differences of romantic feeling? Would it render them as passionate ultimatums? Or instead be the perfect melting pot, rendering the individuals as calm as super-intelligent telepathic aliens of sci-fi B movies?