Monthly Archives: September 2012

I give myself drift

I say ‘I’ to gather myself in, but as the word escapes my mouth I lose it, as I type it I give myself drift.

— Frenet, Journal


At the same time I had to tell myself that we invariably made excessive demands of everything and everybody: nothing is done thoroughly enough, everything is imperfect, everything has been merely attempted, nothing completed. My unhealthy craving for perfection had come to the surface again.

— Thomas Bernhard, Concrete (tr. McLintock)

I type a few words

I type a few words, halfheartedly, delete half of them, smoke a cigarette, despair of my life, and if the right words come, if one right phrase comes, I’m found, or rather lost in a larger world, at least for a moment.

— Frenet, Journal

To lie

To write is to rewrite, which is to say to quibble, which is to say to lie. Thus to write is the work of the devil and to be written is the work of God. But to write is unavoidable and to write is also to be written.

— Frenet, Journal

Do I write or am I written?

Do I write or am I written? I write and I’m split in half – writing writes me and I’m one. Writing goes on and I’m lost.

— Frenet, Journal

This journal doesn’t exist

This journal doesn’t exist. It splits into a hundred pieces as soon as I start writing it.

— Frenet, Journal

An ordinary, artificial life

What an ordinary, artificial life I’ve led. And how ordinary and artificial it is to write about it, as if for ‘posterity’. What do I have to say? In an absolute sense, nothing. And that’s what I’m saying.

— Frenet, Journal