Tag: existentialism, narrative, philosophical

My thought is me: that’s why I can’t stop. I exist because I think…and I can’t stop myself from thinking. At this very moment, it’s frightful, if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing. I am the one who pulls myself from the nothingness to which I aspire: the hatred, the disgust of existing, there are as many ways to make myself exist, to thrust myself into existence. Thoughts are born at the back of me, like sudden giddiness, I feel them being born behind my head…if I yield, they’re going to come round in front of me, between my eyes, and I always yield, the thought grows and grows and there it is, immense, filling me completely and renewing my existence.