I think I should start my note with a big laughter, with some painful, cynical and deceiving laughter; but it's pretty hard when you're sitting before a screen. But I wish.
Today could be one of those happy days of my life, one of those days of finding myself, or rather losing myself. Nietzsche challenged most of the western philosophers of the last two centuries with the idea of the eternal return, which was wonderfully surveyed by Heidegger and Sartre, two of my favourites. I believe the poetry of Holderin came much closer to understand the idea behind the eternal return, although it was written during the German Romanticism. Right before the Sturm and Drang, right before the word kitsch came into being. Right before German pathos would reach its highest peak, right before people like Nietzsche would be no more than heretic dreams. I wonder what people like Kant would have thought about it in their own times, "What's the Enlightenment?" is a question just as metaphysically dense and meaningless as the question of the eternal return. To some extent I hesitate on whether it is the same question. Similar questions were posed by Parmenides and by many others even behind parmenides. The question itself was posed by man himself after having eaten from the tree of knowledge that brought him to spiritual death. The Jewish god questioned it himself. Heraclited said once "If you haven't heard me but the Logos it is wise to ascertain by means of the senses that all the things are but one very same thing". Until this very day I didn't stop from running away from the Logos, yet I didn't stop from hearing in each and every instance of my life. Those are my memories, my memories of Giorgia Kaltsidou. That Pontiac, told and caring woman who loved me as only a philosopher can love, who loved each and every part of my brain and who yielded it for so many years.
Georgia reminds me of the poetess Zelda, and somehow everyday I remember her. I remember her when I look at myself in the mirror, when I speak and even when I cry and dream. I remember her when I kiss him, I remember her when I crave for him. Years have passed since I last heard her voice, like coming from a far, from within the womb of an Arcadian hill. I can still remember that voice such as a swift touch beneath the skin. Does Georgia know herself how much of the architect of my life she was? I doubt it. She will die one day, maybe she's dead now and all this will become kitsch, how much we abhorred it! And then years later I will become kitsch myself, ugh! and I know I will become big kitsch. Ha!
Now I've broken my last tie to the past. I turned my back on the State of Israel, in full awareness of my betrayal. I rejected my career with a non-return point breakthrough, took each and every one of my house belongings and placed them in the streets saving only my clothes, my music and my books. My books are going to be sold within a week, except for those I would be unable to acquire once again. I avenged to myself to most of my past, including Auschwitz. I am a free man today and more willing than ever for the eternal return. I'm not afraid, ironically enough thanks to a little man who is more afraid of himself than anything else. He set me free, with more kitsch that his communist upbringing and his massive body can contain. His awful lot.
It wasn't very difficult to trace him, the internet does wonders. I hesitate know whether to send flowers for his birthday. No, that's too conventional. Interesting books I sent already twice so it doesn't make sense no more, too early for a surprise. Hummmm.... poetry of Zelda? He hasn't been in Israel enough as to understand it. I don't know for how long I'll be able to endure the silence diet, probably next week I'll call. Postcards I sent already and I actually showed my contemptuous lack of originality, so should I falter at this point? My fidelity to his soul (not to him, to his soul) is still unmovable, such as is my self-loathing. I'll think about something, that's way too far into the future as to worry with that right now. Eternal return, once again. No fear, whatsoever. It's interesting to discover that the highest level of freedom man can acquire is the realization that he hasn't got any.
A little disappointment though (but just a little). It was too simple to trace his steps. I think there should be in the world more people like Sabina and me. People that never existed anywhere but in the memories and diaries of other people. People who never left traces anywhere, who no one knows where they live or how they go through the day. Invisible so to speak, most likely. But then again I wouldn't fall in love with invisible people, our secret brotherhood. Invisible people cause me aversion. There's a mad fascination about them. They come, steal your life and then fade away, just like Georgia. My master. Invisible yet living in the same house and sitting in the same old armchair for over thrity years, invisible yet. I think there's something invisible about every person and every eye, something invisible about everyone of us just like there's eternal return for everyone, such as there's faith, such as there's love. Such as there're several shadows. There's something invisible about the heart. About poetry, about art, and even about communism and homosexuals, in spite of the anachronism. The universe is invisible itself, read about steady-wave theory?. Universe, unity, invisibility, return, unicity. It starts to make sense. I loosen.
No fear.
Just laughter and lightness.
Alanis released a new version of "Ironic". Now it goes like "Meeting the man of your dreams and then meeting his beautiful husband". How pathetically ironic and full of kitsch.. This world is definitely going nowhere, and we know it and we stumble, then die. Not so easy though. Eyes watching me, thousands of eyes. The eyes of Georgia, my father, my aunt, Asher, Yuval, Oren, Ofer, even Vitaly watching me. I owe to behave.
No fear tonight.
Just laughter and lightness.
And insofar as you're concerned, don't worry. Bitterness and heaviness until you'll understand. Then after the heavy weight of lightness you'll desperate crave for vertigo as you craved for a desire to wail and you'll fall. In laughter and lightness.
Ari
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