Sewage-water music & Ignorance

We won’t understand a thing about human life if we persist in avoiding the most obvious fact: that a reality no longer is what it was when it was. It can’t be reconstructed.
I imagine the feelings of two people meeting again after many years. In the past they spent some time together, and therefore they think they are linked together by the same experience, the same recollections. The same recollections? That’s where the misunderstanding starts: they don’t have the same recollections; each of them retains two or three small scenes from the past, but each has his own; their recollections are not similar; they don’t intersect; and even in terms of quantity they are not comparable: one person remembers the other more than he is remembered; first because memory capacity varies among individuals (an explanation that each of them finds acceptable), but also (and this is more painful to admit) because they don’t hold the same importance for each other. When F. saw G. at the airport, she remembered every detail of their long-ago adventure; G. remembered nothing. From the very first moment their encounter was based on unjust and revolting inequality.
The brevity of his life makes the sky a dark lid against which he will forever crack his head, to fall back onto earth, where everything alive eats and can be eaten.
She is lying on the bed alongside S; overexcited at the prospect of her rendezvous, she fears for her sleep; she already swallowed one sleeping tablet, she drowsed off and, waking in the middle of the night, she took another two, then out of despair, out of nervousness, she turned on a little radio beside her pillow. To get back to sleep she wants to hear a human voice, some talk that will seize her thoughts, carry her off to another place, calm her down, and put her to sleep; she switches from station to station but only music pours out from everywhere, sewage-water music, fragments of rock, of jazz, of opera, and it’s a world where she can’t talk to anybody because everybody’s singing and yelling, a world where nobody talks to her because everybody’s prancing around and dancing.