able to read the coffee grounds is not an art: it is a disgrace. A sad damn disgrace. For years she hopes to learn this clairvoyant ability to predict the future. Understand the world we dream of ourselves, to learn to read e-together-face with the bones. Bullshit. All bullshit.
no use intuit secrets in the lump of powder and liquid that wallows in the bottom of a cup at a slight angle. Even decant it a little 'help. And even tease with a teaspoon.
Both-to-end we always want the balls to accept what he has to say. Not there is much to turn around. Accept or imaginatively reconstruct an inconvenient truth, watered down. And look at the reality does not seem the happiest job in the world. Indeed. We always try to do everything possible to embroider a thin gold thread on the sail of a vessel departing. Illusion-perhaps-but admire the sunlight gleaming on the horizon that gold will make less cynical. He does not care, do not look at your face, will not have mercy on you. Fagociterà the ship, as it did with many others, as he did with many others.
So what's the point that extraordinary ability to read the coffee grounds? A niente. Ti schiaffa soltanto nel fango. Ti conficca le dita fra i capelli e con violenza ti affoga in quella melma soffocante. Complica la tua esistenza, strattonandola fra l’inevitabile Verità e la speranza di un tuo eccezionale Errore. Invece no. Chi legge in fondo alla Tazzina non ha il Diritto di sbagliarsi. Non può fermarsi e tutto ad un tratto annullare quella sua tragica eccezionale abilità. Si resta lì, fermi, ad orecchie basse e Si Legge. Senza fiatare. Senza poter fare altrimenti. In silenzio, sottomessi.
Forse l’ammirazione di qualche stolto passante potrà illudere che tutto ciò sia un Talento e non una Disgrazia. Gli applausi e i complimenti danno alla testa, offuscano eyes. The specialty of a different humanity certainly does not imply a Fortune-as-a pretty damn bad luck.
Reality-is-it is clear what it is, although it is always our perceptual apparatus to filter out our being in the world. Sooner or later, however, we are at war with the walls of our possibilities for action. But-a-times I think that the unconsciousness is a blessed virtue. Or maybe I should call Concreteness, Pragmatism, or trivially simple. That simplicity is not steeped in that door to go beyond looking and what will be will be. That lightness absence Anxiety, Complexity of intricacies. That walking on a cloud gray, unaware of what goes on. Do not touch.
Sometimes I curse all my constituent Thinking. All this feeling. Sometimes I hate him right.
And every time I take the coffee. I try not to read anything. Almost never succeed.
