record of a night too brief – hiromi kawakami
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SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT
How would one describe the girl now, as she was inside the box? It was like she was there, only she wasn’t; or like she wasn’t, except that she was. Or maybe she occupied an indeterminate state of being, both there and not there, in exactly equal amounts.
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Why did I smash the box? I thought bitterly. But how could I have stopped myself?
How could anyone endure such a state, of having someone there and not there—not there and there—at the same time? Deeply indignant at this quandary of quantum physics, I cried and cried.
Impresie. Albastru inefabil... 