nausea nausea
We were a bunch of existing clumsy, embarrassed by ourselves, we had not the slightest reason to be there, neither one nor the other, each existing, confused, vaguely uneasy is felt too in relation to others. Too: it was the only relationship I could establish between those trees, those gates, those pebbles. In vain I tried to count the chestnut trees, to locate them in relation to Velleda, to compare their height with that of plane trees: each one of them escaped from the reports in which I tried to lock them up, s'isolava, overflowed. Of these reports (which m'ostinavo keep to delay the collapse of the human world, the world of measurements, quantity, directions) felt the arbitrariness; had more bite on things. Too, chestnut tree, there in front of me, a little 'left. Of the Velleda too ... And I - weak, languid, obscene, digestive, full of dark thoughts - I was too. Fortunately I did not feel so much more I understood, but I was uncomfortable because I was afraid to hear it (even now I fear - I fear that this take me behind the head and lifted me up like a wave). I thought vaguely of removing, for destroying at least one of these superfluous lives. But my own death would be too many. Too much of my body, my blood on those stones, among the plants at the bottom of the garden smiling. And the meat was too corroded to the land that would have received, and my bones, finally, cleaned, skinned, neat and clean as the teeth, would also be too much: I was too much for eternity.
(Sartre, Nausea)
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