a folio niveo
Another year, another post.
There may not be a next one, though, as this place a folio niveo, having served its littleness of a purpose in life, is about to be tossed into the vortex of time. After all, I'm through.
At the end of the day, be somebody.
Here's the long-overdue second (or rather, penultimate) instalment from Hesioluge. As you can see, the writings have become increasingly cryptic so I may as well stop after this entry. In the end, who can possibly remember such an encounter four years on?
End of March. Enerything's on track, my words a little off.
Still I am trying hard to cope. After the conversation with him which resulted in the Psyche discussion, I begin to understand things slightly better. Or rather, to treat them more leniently and thus, naturally. There's no need in working against oneself, life is short and you can never tell. Looking forward to tomorrow and well spend today; there's so much to ask for. Like now. Not at all times might you do it properly, yet the best is to be.
Seemingly I have settled down quite comfortably at this school, and so I hope. When materialisticly physical stuff becomes minor, nothing is to worry about. Of course we've got a number of tasks in hand and a plight to grapple with, but thinks openly and wisely. Freud is never to sorry you, Shakespeare not to metaphysicise you, Baby Blues never to memorise you, Small Things never to trivialise you. You've got your own sight. Let it be Joy's mind, Elis's sense, Wides' nothing and everything. Take it all.
And thus to have a mind of your own. His Illusion.
What's so great about blog, the top word of 2004, and the No.1 thing to watch out for this year? To me, it feels eerily like Hesioluge Part II - not a particularly attractive idea.
Let's start slowly then, and republish the few pieces from the other, long dead, journal first. The writing's not terribly exciting, but ever since it disappeared from the open Internet more than two years ago I felt, uh, somewhat bad about keeping it in my own closet. Someone's gonna see it. The people responsible need to know. But one thing to keep in mind is that the thoughts in there are truly, totally irrelevant today. Well, almost. It's like opening up an old diary of sins passed on from your great-grandpa and admiring the contents inside. Oh, did I say admire? Not exactly my sentiments, you know.
Here is the closing chapter. Simply beautiful.
Sinking deep into spring, the intoxicating cast of uncertainties.
Celebrating love's labour's lost, but for a subject too demanding to bear. You let go everything with no remorse, you cannot get away from that ambivalence.
What is it all about power, money, and sex, disciplinarians' neurotic horror and free-wheelers' never-think-abouts. A world-divided, there hold you true.
No need know your projection; you cast not a shadow. Tout vien a long du circle, revien a la fin. Par le bon et le mal je resterai vrai. Je suis moi-meme toujours.