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The voices

by gheorghe Sârbu

 

 

Impresii si pareri personale in FORUM

please read about it in romanian  -   cititi acest articol in limba romana  >>>>


 

It’s not the number that gives the value!


One
There are moments when the normal feels lonely, when the normal feels rejected and there are moments when the exception takes the place of the normal. What is it that makes it possible for the exception not to cross, just like the normal, the homogeneous seas, populated with all sorts of ingredients? It’s the inner voices…

Two
From the fields of natural events, from the clods of created situations, I am bringing as an example the case of Dimitrie Stelaru. In order to convincingly prove that the being who does not populate the common place superiorly crashes against the altercations inherent to the mob, I am using at the same time the two poles of each limit: a) decision and b) indecision. A contemporary poet, to whom I once told that his writing is minor, replied to me: but I am on the front page of all literary revues! This is not the only reason why I am approaching the theme I intend to debate, besides the clique, group, gang interests… Superior, in my acceptance, means the Clearer. It is natural, therefore, that the order of things should be met not only with the index of pluralism, but also with the matrix of the reasons determining the credo.

Three
We are coming, amnesic, as part of the Lady World. The Lady World itself is amnesic. Everything happens, therefore, on the land with no shadows, by the will of the arbitrary. Thus it is not surprising why, but especially wherefrom comes this wallowing of the verticality of much presupposed Human Road. Huge sums are being spent to accumulate knowledge, inherently over the creation act; post-mortem these sums are being spent, commemoratively topsy-turvy, like the physical acts that precede, promulgate, concatenate them, with/ in the same common denominator, the dynamiting of the balance between the Interior Ego and the Exterior Ego of the Human Poles, cause and effect in reality, mathematically useless. What is it that saves the Lady World from disintegration? Her superficiality, her inconsistency, her self-sufficiency … How come Lady World is so strong, how come Lady World is so valueless: the few values cleverly sneaked on the Board of History, by far being actually leitmotifs of inoperative ideas. What a debauchee, this Lady World! A condition (….)“ de te fabula narratur “1 , in which she indulges with complete lack of involvement, but with a mood to take decisions, 99.99% parallel even with her determinants; at times different from Herself, at times alike to Herself, forever in an amorphous Function Radical, but not in her own interest. Forever in movement, forever at rest, forever unaware of the propitious. Caught red-handed by her own opinions, she gets away with it, redeemed still by her opinions; a tossing of foul silt, sized by the deafened ear of the Media.


Compendium
We come into the Incarnated World with no memory; our neurons are washed, our ears cleaned, our eyes disinfected, our fingertips numbed. We come curious, surfeited, neuter. Until we learn to walk, until we learn to babble, until we learn to glance, we learn to kiss the ankle, to kiss the milk bottle, to kiss the pointing finger. We become familiar with ourselves by kissing, and by kissing we get to know the human environment. The lips, therefore, become the organ of perpetuation of Hercules’ kind. And, as if this weren’t enough, until we waive good-bye to life, we also learn hope, we learn silence, we learn about the head, that is, if it is bent, the sword won’t cut… We do our military service, we take our Bachelor’s degree, our Master’s degree… We become a mother, we become a father, we become university professors. And we die, and we are born, and we die again. We leave, when we leave the world, senile, we come, when we come into the world, senile; the kiss, be it wholesale, still doesn’t lead us to wisdom. Everything is at its place, the tolerant would say, which is not too far from the way things are in the being; not so after the narrow path between the buttocks is taken for the tits …

Nuances
The many parts of which Lady World is acrosticated belong to the hazard, except the Genius, which belongs to the Holy Gift. Which is to prefer: the moving sands of I know I don’t know, or the “against the grain” of I am trying to know what I do not know? This question will never get an answer. In this case, is moving forward on the Human Road still necessary as a predilection? And if, and if, and if… (…)
The Lady World, at a certain moment, will find herself faced with an impossible situation, that of not having where to dispose of the physiological residues. Yeah, right, the 2nd millennium said. So what, the 3rd millennium impetuously recites. What do you say about this “against the grain”, the downstream strongly argues. Never mind, Lady World, never mind, the spring is murmuring, half restless, half reconciled with its own destiny. When the spring comes, the torrents break the dams, and even the most miserable ditch becomes a riverbed.
The genius is born with the understanding of this Major Thing. This is why the whole takes into account even the smallest part of the Social Edifice.
This is where qualities come from… Not also defects…

The Riverbed
With life, with birth, with death you can’t negotiate.

The Riverbank
I should plume myself on the merit of keeping under my thighs everything that is meaningless. But I don’t do that, because I think the opposite; what if what I am trying to underline is not a merit, but a duty? What if it is me, and not anyone else, that is meant to guard the horizon? Somebody, in the end, must do the hard work… I accept, therefore, to analyse the unknown under the magnifying lens. I take the evidence for what it is not, and I try to outline it: that’s it, this is the truth; we must get reconciled with ourselves; in order to touch this implacable aim, it is enough that the smart guy stop playing the fool…
Out of question?
No way, quite alike!

1.- “ This story is about you”.

gheorghe Sarbu

Romania

 

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