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The Man Who Came Down the Attic Stairs

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Celine Loup

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“They will let you have dope Because they are quite willing To drug you or kill you. They will let you have babies Because they are quite willing To pauperize you-- Or use your kids as labor boys For army, air force, or uranium mine. They will let you have alcohol To make you sodden and drunk And foolish. They will gleefully let you Kill your damn self any way you choose With liquor, drugs, or whatever.”

“When babies are born, they can typically only focus on objects eight to twelve inches in front of them. Their eye muscles strengthen and improve quickly so that they can see and take in more of the world through their eyes. I find it somewhat ironic that most of the human race now spends so much time staring at objects — phones and tablets — eight to twelve inches in front of our faces. Perhaps we all just want to return to our childhood?”

“Take a deep breath by first filling your belly with air, and then your chest with air. A large majority of people never move their chests when they inhale. This is due to an emotional/physical response to trauma in your childhood. Watch a newborn baby breathe, and see how his or her entire torso inflates when he or she breathes. This is called solar respiration. Breathe with your mouth open, as wide open as possible. You will know that you are breathing correctly when you hear the inrushing and outrushing breath sounding very clearly. This sound is like the ocean you hear when you place your ear against a seashell. This is the same breath sound you make after running a race, or while having sex. Do not be disturbed if you feel dizzy. Simply place your attention on the soles of your feet and continue to breathe - if you do this, you will stop feeling dizzy. Do this practice every day, gradually working up to twenty minutes per day of continuous solar breathing. If possible, do this practice outside in nature, with your knees very slightly bent (no locked) and in your bare feet, or at least on the soil, grass, or natural rock.”

“Darling, I’ve realised I don’t love you. If I loved anyone, it would be you. But I love no one. I’ve come to understand I don’t care about anything except for myself. Any kindness I’ve ever shown has been in my own self-interest. The very existence of other people seems doubtful. I wanted more from life than this. Let’s have a baby.”

“The permanence of my impermanence. I stand in possession of it. I stand before him at the entrance to a subway station, in possession of nothing but myself. Myself is everything, I want to tell him. But to him it is nothing, because that's how he feels about himself right now. He is alone, and so he is nothing. How do I explain to him that what applies to him does not apply to me? His context is not my context. How do you blow up the bus you've been forced to ride your entire life? It wasn't your fault there were no other means of transportation available.”

“She discovered that her perception of the world had become doubled, as though it had acquired a stereoscopic property. A pleasant puff of wind blowing through the window became both frightening and alarming, because Yurik turned over in his crib from the stream of air on his cheeks. The tap of a hammer in the apartment above, which she wouldn't even have noticed before, was painful to her ears, and she responded to these blows from the depths of her body, just like the baby. ... She hoped that when she stopped breast-feeding him her familiar world would re-establish itself. But this never happened. On the contrary, it was as though, together with the baby, she was learning to know what was soft, hard, hot, or sharp; she looked at the branch of a tree, a toy, any object at all, with primordial curiosity. Just like him, she ripped pages of newsprint and listened to the rustling of the paper; she licked his toys, noting that the plastic duck was more pleasing to the tongue than the rubber kitten. Once, after she had fed Yurik, she was wiping the sticky cream of wheat off the table with her hand and she caught herself thinking that there was indeed something pleasurable about smearing it on the surface. Yurik was thrilled when he saw his mother doing what he liked to do, and started slapping his little palm in the mess of porridge. Both of them were rubbing their hands around on the tabletop. Both of them were happy.”