Anais Nin: You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.



There are edges of me that
must be cut away.
Parts of my existence are
frayed, the rest is suffering.
I don't want to have to break
and break
and break tiny parts 
of my multi-dimensional 
So, I have to shed some skin,
trim the edges,
or what - have - you. 
In order to save the parts of 
me I need 
right now.

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