Éloge de la Fuite

Image by Ananda Serné.

Life in Paris was a sweet and endless nothing, which I adored. It’s only that you can’t keep postponing. For that’s what I love to do. Procrastinating, and filling the gaps meanwhile. I said to myself I’d not write here anymore, but I may not be reliable, after all. Today I felt the urgency to come back, even if I can only write whenever I’m down. Greta once said: there’s something we maybe have in common: a certain pleasure of  “depression”. That sentence was quite devastating at the time, probably because it’s true. I find in sadness some beauty that I can’t tell. Meanwhile, Andrea recommended me to read Henri Laborit, so it all headed one direction. Accept. And yes, to escape is part of me, and it may not be the devil I always expected it to be.

“Quand il ne peut plus lutter contre le vent et la mer pour poursuivre sa route, il y a deux allures que peut encore prendre un voilier : la cape (le foc bordé à contre et la barre dessous) le soumet à la dérive du vent et de la mer, et la fuite devant la tempête en épaulant la lame sur l’arrière avec un minimum de toile. La fuite reste souvent, loin des côtes, la seule façon de sauver le bateau et son équipage. Elle permet aussi de découvrir des rivages inconnus qui surgiront à l’horizon des calmes retrouvés. Rivages inconnus qu’ignoreront toujours ceux qui ont la chance apparente de pouvoir suivre la route des cargos et des tankers, la route sans imprévu imposée par les compagnie de transport maritime. Vous connaissez sans doute un voilier nommé “ Désir ”.”

Henri Laborit/ Éloge de la Fuite.

Test

“The perception of beauty is a moral test”
Henry David Thoreau.

art by Leigh Wells.

Bleu

Bleu, by Krzysztof Kieslowski (1993). Music by Zbigniew Preisner.

“Remorse is Memory Awake”

Espelho

“Fiz de mim o que não soube
E o que podia fazer de mim não o fiz.
O dominó que vesti era errado.
Conheceram-me logo por quem não era e não desmenti, e perdi-me.
Quando quis tirar a máscara,
Estava pegada à cara.
Quando a tirei e me vi ao espelho,
Já tinha envelhecido.
Estava bêbado, já não sabia vestir o dominó que não tinha tirado.
Deitei fora a máscara e dormi no vestiário
Como um cão tolerado pela gerência
Por ser inofensivo
E vou escrever esta história para provar que sou sublime.”

“Tabacaria”, Fernando Pessoa / Álvaro de Campos

(Read the whole poem here, portuguese – english)

Vivre Sa Vie

Anna Karina as Nana Kleinfrankenheim in Vivre Sa Vie (Godard, 1962)

My hours of sleep are completely wrong. My time in life doesn’t follow any pattern. And that strange way of being, in time and life, made me uneasy until now. And well, Charly said it once again, the way I needed to hear.

Well, Anna, what can you expect from yourself? Look at the movies you like. They define you. Their pace feel the opposite, their slowness imply patience but greater rewards. But why does one same thing seem to be harder to me than to anyone else? I believe in life as narration, he said. And I’m not talking about a lousy narration. Everything in our life must be there for some reason that will pay off later. Your cinema is not easy, neither you are. You’ll need to breathe reality the way you watch images in the dark, and slowly everything will fall into its right place.

And so I begin to understand.

Hay Tantos Muertos

Marissa Nadler – Hay Tantos Muertos

Si me preguntáis en dónde he estado
debo decir “Sucede”.
Debo de hablar del suelo que oscurecen las piedras,
del río que durando se destruye:
no sé sino las cosas que los pájaros pierden,
el mar dejado atrás, o mi hermana llorando.
Por qué tantas regiones, por qué un día
se junta con un día? Por qué una negra noche
se acumula en la boca? Por qué muertos?

Si me preguntáis de dónde vengo tengo que conversar con
cosas rotas,
con utensilios demasiado amargos,
con grandes bestias a menudo podridas
y con mi acongojado corazón.

No son recuerdos los que se han cruzado
ni es la paloma amarillenta que duerme en el olvido,
sino caras con lágrimas,
dedos en la garganta,
y lo que se desploma de las hojas:
la oscuridad de un día transcurrido,
de un día alimentado con nuestra triste sangre.

He aquí violetas, golondrinas,
todo cuanto nos gusta y aparece
en las dulces tarjetas de larga cola
por donde se pasean el tiempo y la dulzura.
Pero no penetremos más allá de esos dientes,
no mordamos las cáscaras que el silencio acumula,
porque no sé qué contestar:
hay tantos muertos,
y tantos malecones que el sol rojo partía,
y tantas cabezas que golpean los buques,
y tantas manos que han encerrado besos,
y tantas cosas que quiero olvidar

No Hay Olvido (Sonata), Pablo Neruda

English Translation

Good Morning – Midnight –

Good Morning – Midnight -
I’m coming Home -
Day – got tired of Me -
How could I – of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place -
I liked to stay -
But Morn – did’nt want me – now -
So – Goodnight – Day!

I can look – cant I -
When the East is Red?
The Hills – have a way – then -
That puts the Heart – abroad -

You – are not so fair – Midnight -
I chose – Day -
But – please take a little Girl
He turned away!

Emily Dickinson “Good Morning – Midnight”

Bohren Und Der Club Of Gore – Destroying Angels

Low – Lullaby

Antony and the Johnsons – Hope there’s someone