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letra de page 18. - james dickey

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before i made a move, though, i sat for maybe twenty
seconds, failing to feel my heart beat, though at that mo-
ment i wanted to. the feeling of the inconsequence of what-
ever i would do, of anything i would pick up or think about
or turn to see was at the moment being set in the very bone
marrow. how does one get through this? i asked myself
by doing something that is at hand to be done was the best
answer i could give; that and not saying anything about the
feeling to anyone. it was the old mortal, helpless, time-
terrified human feeling, just the same. i had had a touch or
two before, though it was more likely to come with my
family, for i could find ways to keep busy at the studio, or
at least to seem busy, which was harder, in some cases, than
doing real work. but i was really frightened, this time. it
had me for sure, and i knew if i managed to get up
through the enormous weight of l-ssitude, i would still
move to the water cooler, or speak to jack waskow or thad
with a sense of being someone else, some poor fool who
lives as un0bserved and important as a ghost, going through
the only motions it has

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