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#past – @chi-va-piano-arriva-dopo on Tumblr
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A modo mio

@chi-va-piano-arriva-dopo / chi-va-piano-arriva-dopo.tumblr.com

Ogni risveglio dura pochi istanti, una manciata di attimi che sembrano eterni. Ti guardi intorno e realizzi che quello che stavi vivendo era un sogno talmente bello da sembrare quasi vero, poi, socchiudi gli occhi ed isoli la mente al fine di fuggire da tutti quei pensieri che contengono tracce di sentimento ed umanità da dimenticare; zittisci il cuore sperando di non provare più nulla e fingi di essere invincibile anche quando i ricordi hanno il potere di renderti fragile come la cartapesta.
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Murder on the Orient Express (2017) directed by Kenneth Branagh.

“The impossible could not have happened, therefore the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances.”   ―  Agatha Christie, “Murder on the Orient Express”.    

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Imagine a book. Imagine a book that contains everything that is happening, everything that has happened, everything that will happen. There is nothing that exists that is not written in this book. The book is heavy. It is bound in leather, made from the hide of a beast that has never existed. The only eyes that read the book are blind. They see only darkness and the contents of the book. The book is the universe, and only blind destiny sees how the universe shape itself into stories, perhaps he is the only one who reads all the stories the universe forms. It is chained to him, whether from protection, or to prevent him escaping from it, or to indicate that destiny and the book are one and the same, not even he knows, and not even he can say. Destiny carries the universe. It is rare, but far from unknown, for destiny to read about himself in the book. He is, in his own way, an inhabitant of the universe, after all. Now he turns a page and reads about himself.

Drawing by J.H.Williams III.

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Rene Schute, Time Out (2008).

“I live in the past. I take everything that has happened to me and arrange it. From a distance like that, it doesn't do any harm, you'd almost let yourself be caught in it. Our whole story is fairly beautiful. I give it a few prods and it makes a whole string of perfect moments. Then I close my eyes and try to imagine that I'm still living inside it.”  - Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea.

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