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by [Seemis ]

2004-03-23  |     | 

by gheorghe Sârbu

It's not the number that gives the value.

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.

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.

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.

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 .

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".

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