“...we can not love or think except in fragments of time each of which goes along its own trajectory and immediately disappears."
second calvino of the year after invisible cities. very meta, which in less serious hands could become cloying. it manages to work out.
you (the real you, not the second perspective protagonist of most of the book) will think about the act of reading in a different way by the end of it, or at least become more conscious of it. so read if you like to read and read about reading.
I actually read this awhile ago but reread it recently (and I neverrrrr reread stuff so that’s saying smth) because it’s such a fun, experiential read. I am a sucker for a good metafictional shtick (been also meaning to reread Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy, so maybe bit of a theme there to what I feel compelled to reread)
create without the thought it is “for” something. let the project be whatever it wants to be, and recognize you are bringing it to fruition because something vital within you is actualized in doing so. when you create independent of outcome, the sense of pressure dissipates and there’s more room for originality and enjoyment.
not a “what i did today” journal but notes of what you see feel and consider as you go through your life. look out for striking images, juxtapositions. if you half see or hear something absurd, roll with it rather than correcting yourself. after a few days / when you have a good amount of material, arrange according to theme, meter, and once more, juxtaposition rather than narrative. might be cool
