Two or three people even showed up, maybe four, who, I don’t know, were about to board the recently sunk submerged Titan, but who (as my mother said) failed to do so, due to a hache or b. They all wipe their sweat congratulating each other, just like when you’re in the middle of the street, confused, wondering if you’re still alive when a motorcycle nearly killed you. People with “about” give too much play in interviews because it’s easy to identify with them. We’ve all come close to something that isn’t there. Unborn, for example: there were three hundred million sperm on a crazy highway to the egg. I once saw a group of sperm under the microscope and they were racing each other like crazy. The fastest always comes, we don’t know if he’s the smartest either.
there are hundreds stories about passengers who lost a plane that later crashed. When journalists bring the artichokes with them, they describe in detail what happened in the minutes before the plane took off. It looks like a miracle. Many attribute this to the intervention of their dead mother, who watches them from the afterlife; others to a virgin to whom they are devoted; some to the existence of an order that prevails over chaos. This means that most of the staff believe in fairy tales hence these tales have historical success. No one is saying it was just luck that saved him from getting on that train or the bus. This is where it is best expressed. human need for meaning. we need things to happen for this or for the other (by hache or be).
But everything is in vain, it seems to me, this may not cease to be a reverse mysticism. A whole house collapsed recently, I don’t remember in which town. Miraculously, no one was caught downstairs. We said “miraculously” because it seems unbelievable that there was time left to evacuate the building. If we think about it now, it is also a miracle to leave the house in the morning and return safely in the evening. In fact, no one returns as a whole, what happens is that we do not perceive the loss, because every day we become a little blinded in this life of tiny inner explosions where something intimate disappears.