The U Turn 00:02

After many hours, many long dark hours, something like consciousness returned, and I began to try to make sense of what had happened. They are still cleaning scrubbing the floors and ceiling from our remains. i was a mess.

I recall in my teens crying into pillowcases, whenever something grave would happen, fearing that God was finally taking my death wish seriously and issuing it always at the worst possible moment, when things were starting to go alright... But then it dawned in the morning, that it was only farce, construed to make one pathetic and humbled in hindsight. As it be, we know not what we want, but blunder like mules in the dark with our shadow burdens along the pathologic. While I pulled my soul together, following the most recent pyrotechnics, I saw that you read my letters by the firelight... and cried. Though no sadness contained therein... to be sure only a sharing of thoughts. All four binders in one night! I was truly impressed.

The pages add up night after night of letter writing. I was delusional, even then; i appreciate your leading me back to my essay in Prose on evil. Haha! that bit about having snapped long ago, or long before, made me laugh out loud at this self, and as luck would have it, the irony of life. You've been examining iron fists lately yourself.

That is the box.

I had a fantasy. Yes i. I went behind the Iron Curtain. I wandered the Old City, a place I vowed not to go back to, though it was not me who had been there before. So, notion in itself, this a great breaking of barriers. I spoke there with one renown Alexander Luria. I had always thought that having stores of miscellaneous knowledge readily at hand (as to names, numbers, dates, events, whatnots of historical significance) were hallmarks of high intellect and in any case utilitarian in conviction to build an argument in conversation... he blah-hah-ed it as mnemonics (memorization requiring applications that even the average might attain results in...). The vagueness of my thinking he applauded as leaving room for doubt and inquiry (he was a neuro pathologist) and reminded me that in last materialization i was born in the year of the Solidarity Movement and Postmodernism, fragments which had drilled into my psyche the importance of "having a concept." I was comforted for an undefined moment. But I walked away from our tête-à-tête over thé with a fire under foot none the wiser, staring into my calloused palms seeing no concept... only empty hands.

You see how pragmatic my imaginings! i quote Voltaire: "Everyman is guilty of all the good he didn't do."

Failing to act, failing to act that is the phantom spur of the artist. And yet, i recall the wisdom underscored in the sacred texts:

BG 4.18: Those who see action in inaction and inaction in action are truly wise amongst humans. Although performing all kinds of actions, they are yogis and masters of all their actions. The Bhagadava Gita, Chapter 4, Verse 18.

That must be why i am so committed to understanding the wasting of Time.

A thing which i know we are beyond. Thx for transcribing thoughts with me <3U