I have the impression that I am experiencing a death. I no longer have a center—not that it moves around inside me, in constant, even perpetual motion—but no localizing of it is even possible any more.
— Danielle Collobert, Meutre
From Danielle Collobert’s notebooks, December 1959.
Hi — I already always wanted to write you — it didn’t happen — why — you know — we always write to talk to ourselves — always — actually I haven’t written a line for the longest time — except poems — but you know that — that isn’t writing something — I believe that something is ripening just now, little by little — at time I’ve said to myself that the moment I’m in has extraordinary flavor — so good — but I didn’t begin to understand what it was in such a moment — I can’t even locate the feeling involved — I try, of course without success, to recapture it, relive it — of course that’s impossible — what it will suddenly bring out in me — where I’m going — at this moment I feel like adding things up — drawing a line and summing up, like Sartre said — not getting lost — it’s meticulous — and necessary — I haven’t the strength for it — it would take too long— but I’m making little starts, one after the other —
painting by Ben Grasso
I begin “okay here I am — alone — totally alone — nothing counts — death close — my death —what there is around me — facts — things — maybe even human beings I can do without from one day to the next — I’m available — completely — merciless freedom — you remember — I stop myself here — I can never go any further — anyway what is further — I can’t know — I’m up against a wall — And yet, when I come back, there’s this uneasiness — reminder that I’m not okay — that sometimes I need others — so strong right this minute that I hope someone comes along, anyone — I’ve got my hands on some clay — I am having to do something — write — always the wall — sometimes I hope that elsewhere there’s no wall — it’s dumb — I know I’m going to keep finding myself anywhere — don’t need to write — not necessary — I do it because days go by and I fill them as best I can — in any case — not to write for someone — for other — and then compose — imagine characters — can’t do it — it’s fake…
There are moments when calm returns — silence — and also awareness of everything not quite present — takes time to coax the words — leaving — decision to leave — separating from the moment — and the place — not going right away
level perceptions — plane —
the words — lots of words — without apparent reason
words unlike — people — agreement — very removed among them — operate on me to produce the same effect or rather anxiety or uneasiness — words spoken by certain people destroy in me what I thought was solid — scares me — only with difficulty do I get past these troubled times that can last for sequences of whole days — without anything else displacing it — I sleep without its being gone when I wake — it reaches unexpected places — like the other day when I had an enormous craving to eat until I felt heavy — to drink until I lost consciousness — to be a gigantic organism — monstrous — to engulf — that word — the feeling of that word
Danielle Collobert killed herself in July of 1978.
“Serotonin” — Simple Kid (mp3)
The above is the classic track to end all classic tracks.
PREVIOUSLY ON THIS RECORDING
Maybe we could find a room where we could see what we should do?
Whether or not I gave you too much of myself.
Every face I meet reminds me of what I have run from.