Dangers of proximity

Superficially, normal people. No visible hints to battlefields and trenches. But beneath and between, a velvet War of the Roses, made of armour and retreats and attacks. Right now I’m in a state of emergency, just anything – even a pen falling on the floor – upsets me like an atomic bomb. Just anything can hurt me to death and make me bleed, and at certain moments I’d give anything to see the enemy collapse, to see fear and terror in front of my power. Usually, though, I’m the one who gets the worst bruises. Where’s love in all this.

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Mismatches

The worst errors arise out of an incomplete knowledge of things you think you know well. It’s the craziest moment when you discover a new trait or nuance in a person that has shared part of your path. You may begin to feel that one of your organs, an arm or a leg have been riven and stolen from you. You may begin to see everything double or images losing the contours. You start questioning the genuinity of what you perceive, and in a chain reaction everything is suddenly unlinked from its significance. And the strangest thing of all is your reaction to things: you might as well discover the same things about you, and see things inside you which are completely different from what you could have expected and don’t really seem to belong to you. It’s great when you’re surprised from yourself.

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So daddy…

My “dead cat” – as the Italians say – phase has finally finished. It lasted three full weeks, during which I thoroughly and masochistically enjoyed every single touch of self-slaughter and, like a would-be catholic, whipped myself to ecstasy each night both in my dreams and awake. At the same time, I used to draw dead bodies and imagine to perpetrare selective massacres, feeding on hate and spite and living with nausea. Such a fucking waste of time. “So daddy, I’m finally through”.

Compassion: search for it in Kundera. Unluckily, I cannot cite it in Czech and cannot find everything he wrote about it, I’m sorry.
“For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.”

Contempt: anger and disgust, an attitude of regarding someone as worthless. A feeling when contemplating something small, vile or cowardly.

These two sentiments are quite contrasting and I’m afraid that as soon as I’ve processed and digested them something will happen. In the meanwhile, I’m in a Jedi mood and everything around me is unbearably light.

Daddy, Sylvia Plath >>

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Love

Sometimes it’s there, sometimes it’s not. I can control hate, anger, passion, pain, suspicion, almost anything. I’m very well trained. But I’m not trained at controlling love. Every attempt at reaching the core and separating it from need, jealousy, passion, hate, attitude and pleasure is fruitless. Either it is a mix of all these, or it is something that I cannot grasp, something alien, belonging to another reality, unlimited and undefined and uncircumscribed. It seems that I love when I suffer, when I’m afraid, when I’m alone and more than anything feel an absence. I’d give anything to know why. It looks like pain sets me free. It feels like we’re floating on tectonic plates getting farther and farther apart, whatever we do, whatever we try, suddenly and without appeal. I love when I feel there are an infinite series of choices, and notwithstanding all this, you choose me.

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Owl

Like a vampire or an owl, I justify the first part of my surname with another self arising at night, which is completely different from my daily self. Another me lives and eats and walks and thinks at night, a being completely extirpated and which doesn’t know about the existence of light and logic. With the last orange ray at sunset, this being opens one eye after the other and gradually undertakes a silent control over my body, until the last beam of cerebral activity is set. This being installs itself in my belly and starts grating. It is not a symbiotic relationship, we don’t help each other. This thing just eats me up, it grows and infects my reasoning until my thoughts are directed towards self destruction and consumption. It is so strong that any pale attempt to keep the track towards what is real utterly enrages it until it violently reacts. If my body is tired and wants to sleep, the creature empoisons and corrupts my dreams, so that I wake up screaming and longing for help. It is a titanic creature that wouldn’t allow any other form of life around itself. I’m growing scared of myself.

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Hammers

Half of the time I’m comfortably breathing in the fresh air. Apart from an occasional dizziness and a couple of stumbles, I’m perfectly OK. The other half of the time, I simply strive to coil my arms and legs and make them fit into a box. This is the best place to fight against myself. The box is made in blurred glass, so everything outside is distorted and doesn’t really reach me – I feed on a crooked reality. It’s really hard to move into the box. The simple breathing is extremely wearying, let alone with all the arms wrapping around the face. The skin sticks to the glass. And suddenly I feel old and weary. But now I’ve grown weary and have decided to unbox myself. Time to break that iron lung. I’ve bought a hammer.

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Kids playing with Lego

You and your friend like playing with Lego blocks. You prefer building the foundations and walls, checking their strength, placing them straigth; he likes putting on all the smaller gear, characters, flags, stickers, fake palms and cars. Both of you form a great Lego team. One day, however, you start getting upset about this and ask your friend to mind a little about walls bastions and foundations – you would like to play with palms, flags, characters and ponds as well. Can you blame him if he doesn’t want to? Can you blame him if the shock of your request is so great that he starts looking for somebody else to build his walls? Can you be surprised that he has never even dreamt of thinking about foundations – that the thought of it alone makes him sick?
You shouldn’t.

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