We’re so fucking great
Masters of our fate
We’ll conquer the stars
We’ll colonize Mars
Make a million bucks
Drive SUV trucks
We’ll upgrade our lives
We’ll get trophy wives
Your pocket’s your Savior
Be snide to thy neighbor
C’mon, be a winner
The pauper’s the sinner
Forget all the ancients
Make profits off patients
We’re so fucking bold
We’re breaking the mold
A virus so small
Is breaking us all.
Remember these days
these brief days
when we walked in groups of one
we gave thanks to the ones who toiled
and our lives touched each other even though our hands didn’t.
Remember these days
these brief days
when daddy was no longer at work (yay!)
because people mattered more
than production:
we discovered we had lungs (so fragile)
and the air became breathable.
Remember these days
these brief days
with the deafening chants of birds, their speeches, their courtships, their pleas
finally audible,
and how we watched them build nests from our dining room window,
the whole family gathered around the table for once,
the playgrounds locked, quiet,
the streets devoid of the screams of neglected children;
the strange intimacy.
Remember these days,
these brief days
when we looked at each other with fear and awe
and doubt and hope and kindness
– but we looked! –
and were on the verge of rediscovering
humanity;
A book and a stroll meant the world to us,
we sang on balconies
while deer with unnatural eyes and glistening antlers
wandered into Nara and took the empty metro nowhere.
Remember these days
these brief days
when the trees stood erect and reached into the sky while the stock markets fell
(not the other way around)
when the river exhaled a soft haze at dawn before the buzz began,
the buzz of a thousand and one insects.
Remember the days
when the engines of destruction stood still for a minute
while food continued to grow out of the dark soil
and we were afloat in the poetry of necessity.
Remember these days
for they will not last forever
and maybe, one day, who knows,
they shall be missed.
the heavy, menacing tread of the lone jogger,
the scented solitude of the wild cherry blossom
down by the water.
a silence overpowering, thunderous.
undaunted gulls shrieking about trivial things,
ripping through it –
ear-piercing, alive.
two-dimensional human shapes in the distance
revealing the magnitude of the landscape:
floodplains and clouds huddling over and thickets and brown grasses and beavers
hidden from sight
the musical chirping of warblers,
the regular knocking of woodpeckers.
a sprig, a bursting bud, a thin green leaf timidly exploding
as spring self-isolates amid
this prodigious heaving and gasping,
this fear of inhaling
punctuated by the scampering dogs.
industrious zeal grinding to a halt.
how slow the river flows.
how pale the grey sands.
it feels like Good Friday without the church bells.
Have you noticed how the following themes keep popping up, almost obsessively, in contemporary discourse – in the media, in the public sphere and increasingly in ourselves?
This obsession with sex – and complete devaluation of love and tenderness and commitment.
This obsession with doing – and complete devaluation of being.
This obsession with the intensity of fragmented experience – and complete devaluation of profoundness and resilience and eternity.
This obsession with work and maximization – and complete devaluation of contemplation and spirituality. Of the time it takes to realize that you have a soul, that you are a human being capable of transcendence, not a machine plugged in to churn out as many objects as possible per unit of time.
We treat ourselves and each other as equipment, as products. We apply to beings the logic of machines. We have transferred the maximum efficiency mantra of the technological sector to human life. We have internalized the algebraic depersonalisation, the callous disregard, the flattening subjugation of being to efficiency and utility present in our discourses. We find it OK to behave and to be treated increasingly like predictable robots or like working animals. Like mammals, all dapper and happy to be allowed to act out their basest instincts.
This obsession with Darwinism, with us as little more than physical organisms in biological evolution, this bench-marking against apes, not against angels or saints. This devaluation of angels and saints as melodrama and cheap esoteric – or, even, as oppression. This talk of our “natural instincts”. Nature, our nature, as a new goddess. But should we always make way for our natural instincts? Will that improve us? What will build more character and more goodness and a deeper path to the absolute we secretly yearn for?
(Is something good or legitimate simply because we were born with it? Because we acquired it? Because it is fun? Because it brings pleasure or monetary value? Are we not supposed to transcend ourselves?)
This frenzy of devaluation… No religion, but brand religion. The branding iron.
What is slavery for theoretically free individuals? According to Simone Weil, the disconnect between one’s efforts and their life’s work. (We work, but we no longer have a life’s work, an opus, an oeuvre. We expect our work to be the foundation of our identity, but in fact, so many of us no longer feel like creators. We no longer develop our being in the process of our work. Work all too often feels like odd life-draining tasks under excruciating time pressure, away from the ones we love. It no longer feels like purpose. Just endless busyness. Our work has control over us, but we no longer have much control over it.)
What else is slavery? In Gravity and Grace, S. Weil goes on to say it is the coercion to accept that “reading” of yourself, that interpretation of yourself, which others stamp on you. Having no choice or having only wrong choices. Allowing yourself to be devoured by exhausting activities, and making all this daily effort simply to stay in your current condition – no horizon, no finality, mere survival. Day to day to day. The arbitrariness of how you are treated. The dependency. The addiction.
Any illusion begins to feel real when enough people accept it and internalize it as “the thing to do”. Repeated, it reproduces, it propagates.
This destruction of the human soul…
We no longer recognize the sacredness of our own and each other’s being.
Will the human spirit ever rise against this flattening iron?…
It is upon us.
Its blistering tongues lurk behind the levee,
They pounce like savage beasts
Mercilessly they wheeze
Blowing the tumbleweeds against my doorstep.
A goodbye kiss, crackling dry.
Deserted yards, howling.
The yellow earth swelling and swirling,
It is in my eyes, my nostrils, my teeth.
Every time I spit,
I spit grains of sallow sin.
There used to be ponds along the river
And fishing nets heavy with fish
The cabins on the lake full of
guffawing and cheer,
There used to be trees and snakes.
The forest playing organ to the gales.
It is gone now.
Its birds scattered
like dust from old carpets.
The vineyards are dead.
Their grapes, dried up and shriveled,
Won’t be quenching no thirst
Won’t be crowning no wedding
dances
There ain’t gonna be no toasts around here
no more.
Only the sheer shriek of the southerly wind,
Only the curses of the departed still drifting
across the inward-moving sands.
*poem inspired by this article: https://www.vice.com/ro/article/9ke3nz/seceta-si-nisipul-au-cucerit-sudul-romaniei
The graduation cap kept slipping off my head and the tassel was getting into my field of vision, occasionally blotting out important surrounding objects, like pillars or toilets. I couldn’t bend down, nod, or even glance at my phone. I was beginning to get an inkling into why all graduands look so dignified – standing tall, chin up, gaze fixed firmly ahead, stiff smile. They must be terrified of dropping the thing…
I hadn’t worn a robe before either, and this ceremony at the London Barbican for alumni of the University of London’s International Programmes was my first British-style graduation, national anthem and all.
So when the lady at the dressing booth carefully placed and arranged the heavy black robe on my shoulders, the eerie weight of responsibility settled on them too.
I was on my best behavior: walked across the stage confidently when my name was called (having wisely ditched my stilettos in favor of more sensible flat-sole boots), bowed imperceptibly to the Vice-Chancellor and the other members, looked proudly (how else, cap was unstable) up into the audience, shook someone’s hand and was utterly relieved to be seated again without any major incident.
I was all too happy to relax and watch the long procession of excited graduates that followed, their enthusiasm, the faculty speeches, and the subtle yet undoubtedly motivating and inspiring pomp of the ceremony. I barely fidgeted. The fact that I was dead beat after hours of walking through London must have had something to do with it.
Trying to pack this buzzing and fascinating city into only 48 hours and tick most of the major boxes on my to-see list is no small feat. It is, in fact, for no small feet at all. I have come dangerously close to a broken back, but I did manage to get a pretty good sense of the place, if I do say so myself. Yes, boys and girls, it can be done!
So, as my throbbing, swollen feet are my witness, and in my capacity as surface-scratcher extraordinaire, I feel it is now my duty to dispel at least 3 common misconceptions right off the bat:
1. English food is terrible.
No way. Not necessarily. The gusty winds of healthy living are sweeping through the busy streets and teeming bike lanes of London, with tasty treats, leafy salads, fresh thick soups and vegan sandwiches on every corner. Things like pumpkin or papaya slices on rye bread with seeds, arugula, coleslaw, vegan mayo, vegetables and cheese can make a wholesome yet light and savory breakfast at a fraction of the price of fish and chips. Eat away! The food scene is amazing, and old traditional pubs, local steakhouses, elegant seafood restaurants, or first-class international cuisine are equally sophisticated and delightful. I particularly liked the looks of some eateries around Covent Garden.
2. The British are sticklers for protocol. (You know, stiff upper lip, haven’t been properly introduced type of stuff…)
Well, what can I say, if you marry into the Royal family (new wedding coming up!) most likely, but then you’ve brought it upon yourself. In my experience, however, even during official ceremonies there is the occasional cutting of slack, and guidance is always offered with smiles and in a calm tone of voice.
On the streets, the British are considerate and friendly chaps (and lads), who do not seem at all phased by the bustling crowds and will always take a second to give you directions or duck while you’re trying to photograph the sights. There will be a polite sorry for every brush against your arm, and thank yous are abundant. Never an arrogant snarl, never a condescending eye roll. There is a touch of affability and humor with every interaction. (Oh, I love decorum and a good upbringing!)
And even though the city is as vibrant, diverse and fast-paced as they come (more than 300 different languages are spoken in London schools), I did not get a sense of hectic rage among its inhabitants at all. They are lax and at ease in the commotion (occasional exception: cyclists – no, they are not training for the Tour de France, they’re just pedaling to work). To my complete surprise, most pedestrians don’t pay the slightest attention to red traffic lights. These seem to be optional, as jaywalking is common. So no sticklers there.
The hard focus on discipline and immediate punishment so typical of Germany is oddly missing here, as is the idea that human communities can only be held together by an obsession with conformity and the strict enforcement of procedures.
3. London is outrageously expensive.
Again, if you want an apartment on the riverbank, overlooking the Tower Bridge, or a nice flat in a posh neighborhood (ok, rents are pretty high everywhere) that will bore a significant hole through your bank account. High-life central London entertainment and tickets to most tourist venues will also take a toll on your finances; croissants and hot dogs in the immediate vicinity of a tourist attraction tend to be quite overpriced. But regular food and transportation fares are decent and even a couple of nights in a pleasant hotel not very far from the City are affordable.
You will see the occasional homeless person, and beggars on the Tube. But you will also see great culture and art (Tate Modern has sections with free access); impressive architecture – an eclectic mix of old and new, gleaming glass-and-steel structures cuddling the grimed walls of old churches, townhouses emblazoned with heraldic symbols, and charming little gardens redolent of rhododendrons; garrulous seagulls on the Thames and a buzzing fleet of red double-decker buses that will seem like they’re all driving on the wrong side of the road!
So be careful when you cross the street, pack an umbrella and enjoy five o’clock tea!
I’ll interrupt my reminiscing now and stand for God Save the Queen as my graduation ceremony closes. London, it’s been a pleasure!
Spoiler alert: here are (some) pictures. Don’t forget to also follow me on Instagram, under ipesardna, for more interesting stuff.
![20180305_163030[1]](https://ink4thought.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/20180305_1630301.jpg?w=213&h=213&crop=1 "20180305_163030[1]")
![20180306_083049[1]](https://ink4thought.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/20180306_0830491.jpg?w=213&h=213&crop=1 "20180306_083049[1]")
![20180306_083359[1]](https://ink4thought.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/20180306_0833591.jpg?w=213&h=213&crop=1 "20180306_083359[1]")
![20180306_194315[1]](https://ink4thought.files.wordpress.com/2018/03/20180306_1943151.jpg?w=213&h=213&crop=1 "20180306_194315[1]")
See you next time!
“În vremurile aspre și triste, oamenii liberi pot să se consoleze întotdeauna cu lecția de bază a istoriei, și anume că tiraniile nu pot dăinui decât printre neamurile slugarnice.”
Winston Churchill,
în Humes, J.C. – Vorbele de duh ale lui Winston Churchill, ed. Humanitas, București, 2008.
“Se întâmplă un lucru curios atunci când cei deprinși cu o viață luxoasă ajung să fie greu de mulțumit. În loc să deplângă pierderea capacității de a se bucura de lucrurile simple, aceștia se mândresc cu handicapul nou dobândit, din cauza căruia nu mai pot fi satisfăcuți decât de <<ce e mai bun>>.”
W.B. Irvine, Ghid pentru o viață împlinită, Ed. Seneca 2017, p. 184
“Dar mulți cititori moderni vor fi uimiți chiar și după această explicație: <<De ce să întâmpinăm deschis disconfortul minor în viața noastră, când ne putem bucura de confort total?>> Ca răspuns la această întrebare, Musonius Rufus scoate în evidență cel puțin trei beneficii ale actelor de disconfort voluntar.
În primul rând, acestea ne călesc (…) împotriva nenorocului ce ne-ar putea vizita în viitor. Când nu cunoaștem disconfortul, suntem vulnerabili și cresc șansele să trăim un șoc când ne confruntăm cu durerea și lipsurile, experiențe de care e sigur că vom avea cu toții parte mai devreme sau mai târziu. (…)
Al doilea beneficiu al exercițiului vizează prezentul. Persoana care experimentează frecvent disconfortul minor va căpăta încredere în fața disconfortului major, așa încât perspectiva neplăcerilor majore ale viitorului nu va fi niciodată o sursă de anxietate în prezent. Se antrenează, cum ar spune Musonius Rufus, pentru a fi curajos. (…)
În al treilea rând, practica disconfortului voluntar ne ajută să apreciem mai bine ceea ce avem deja.”
W.B. Irvine, Ghid pentru o viață împlinită, Ed. Seneca 2017, pp. 118-119.
“Sufletul omului se aruncă în dezordine pe sine însuși mai cu seamă când devine, atât cât stă în puterea lui, un abces și, ca să zic așa, o excrescență a lumii; a-și arăta nemulțumirea față de unul din evenimentele care au loc înseamnă o distanțare de natură, în care sunt conținute ca părți toate naturile celorlalte ființe.
În al doilea rând, se aruncă în dezordine când respinge orice ființă umană sau se îndreaptă împotriva ei cu intenția de a o vătăma, cum fac, de pildă, sufletele celor aprinși de mânie.
În al treilea rând, sufletul se aruncă în dezordine atunci când se lasă învins de plăcere sau de suferință.
În al patrulea rând, când se preface și face sau spune ceva în mod fals și nesincer.
În al cincilea rând, când acțiunile și impulsurile sale nu sunt îndreptate spre vreun scop anume, ci se produc fără rost, la întâmplare și în mod inconsecvent, în timp ce e de datoria noastră ca până și cele mai neînsemnate acțiuni să aibă loc țintind spre o finalitate; dar scopul ființelor raționale este acela de a se supune rațiunii și legii celei mai respectate cetăți și guvernări*.”
*(cosmosul, guvernat de rațiunea universală și divină)
Marcus Aurelius – Gânduri către sine însuși, Ed. Humanitas, 2013.
“The first thing that strikes the observation is an innumerable multitude of men, all equal and alike, incessantly endeavoring to procure the petty and banal pleasures with which they glut their lives. Each of them, living apart, is as a stranger to the fate of all the rest – his children and his private friends constitute to him the whole mankind. As for the rest of his fellow citizens, he is close to them, but he sees them not – he touches them but he feels them not; he exists but in himself and for himself alone (…).
Above this race of men stands an immense and tutelary power, which takes upon itself alone to secure their gratifications and to watch over their fate. That power is absolute, minute, regular, provident, and mild. It would be like the authority of a parent if, like that authority, its object was to prepare men for manhood; but it seeks, on the contrary, to keep them in perpetual childhood: it is well content that the people should rejoice, provided they think of nothing but rejoicing. For their happiness such a government willingly labors, but it chooses to be the sole agent and the only arbiter of that happiness: it provides for their security, foresees and supplies their necessities, facilitates their pleasures, manages their principal concerns, directs their industry, regulates the descent of property, and subdivides their inheritances – what remains but to spare them all the care of thinking and all the trouble of living? Thus it every day renders the exercise of the free agency of man less useful and less frequent; it circumscribes the will within a narrower range, and gradually robs a man of all the uses of himself. The principle of equality has prepared men for these things: it has predisposed men to endure them, and oftentimes to look on them as benefits.
After having thus successively taken each member of the community in its powerful grasp, and fashioned them at will, the supreme power then extends its arm over the whole community. It covers the surface of society with a network of small complicated rules, minute and uniform, through which the most original minds and the most energetic characters cannot penetrate, to rise above the crowd. The will of man is not shattered, but softened, bent, and guided: men are seldom forced by it to act, but they are constantly restrained from acting: such a power does not destroy, but it prevents existence; it does not tyrannize, but it compresses, enervates, extinguishes, and stupefies a people, till each nation is reduced to be nothing better than a flock of timid and industrious animals, of which the government is the shepherd.
(…)
By this system the people shake of their state of dependence just long enough to select their master, and then relapse into it again.”
Alexis de TOCQUEVILLE, Democracy in America, Fourth Book, Chapter VI, pp. 861-863 – Bantam Classic, 2004
Felicia
GERMAN >> ROMANIAN >> ENGLISH
inspiration, création
