tmp evidence

Perfume power

perfume is invisible to the eye, but this little bottle nevertheless contains something quite powerful

past view of perfume

In those days, everyone could smell perfume. Everyone knew how wonderful it was. But no more

Photographs and memory

Photographs are precious. They preserve memories

Photograph power

They may be nothing more than scraps of paper, but they capture something profound

photograph guidance imagery

As I wander through the sparce forest of memories, photographs have been my most reliable compass

novel fire

Scattered by the brilliance of the flames, and only the corpses of burned books lit the sky

novel culture allusion

Stunned and silent, as if attending a solemn ceremony

library fire

The library was completely engulfed in flames. Never before had I seen anything burn as brightly or as beautifully…everything seemed to recede into the distance

loss of desire to write

By the fifth or sixth page, I had invariably lost the will to continue

Mental exhaustion from writing rebellion

In the end, I was so weary that the mere sight of the lines on the paper made me dizzy

fear at mental blankedness

My fingers grew numb and my anxiety returned with the realisation that I had no idea what to write

self destruction with writing

In the end, all that was left was a torn page, from the many times I’d erased what I’d written

Old man acknowledging loss

It’s true, I know, that there are more gaps on this island than there used to be

hearts thinning

As things got thinner, more full of holes, our hearts got thinner, too, diluted somehow. I suppose that kept things in balance

refusal of direness old man

There’s nothing too terrible about things dissapearing - or forgetting about them. And those memory police are only after people who aren’t able to forget

typist hopelessness of regaining self

Even if she did help you, do you really believe you’d get back all the things you’ve lost?

typist loss of will to leave

I knew now that I lacked the courage to rejoin the outside world

Loss of self complete typist

It would make no difference if someone came knocking at your door. You’ve already been absorbed into the room

dissociation from legs typist

My legs seemed to be floating in air, and I was no longer able to recall how it had felt when they had been real

loss of taking in the outside world typist

My eyes and ears became weaker and weaker. My body, cut away from my soul, lay prone on the floor in the shadows

Final loss of typist

I am absorbed silently into the room, leaving no trace…the final moment has arrived

objectification of narrator’s body

My body was now included among the objects arranged on the floor. I lay there between the music box and the harmonica, my two legs protruding at odd angles, my hands crossed on my chest, my eyes lowered

Narrator’s body holding memory

I imagined R would now carress my body in order to call forth memories

flash of outside world as narrator disappears

Sunlight came streaming in for one moment but vanished again as the door creaked shut