.JPG)
The paradox = My life ... full of mistakes...how pity? The beginning it was never anything but chaos:
it was a fluid which enveloped me, which I breathed in through the gills. between
the real and the unreal the irony, the paradox. I was my own worst enemy. There was
nothing I wished to do which I could just as well not do. Even as a child, when I lacked
for nothing, I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling.
Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. Especially the successful
ones. The successful ones bored me to tears. I was sympathetic to a fault, but it was not
sympathy that made me so. It was a purely negative quality, a weakness which blossomed at
the mere sight of human misery. I have only felt pity for everybody and everything. From
the very beginning I was independent, in a false way. I had need of nobody because I wanted
to be free, free to do… It's as though my mother fed me a poison, and though I was weaned young the poison
never left my system. Even when she weaned me it seemed that I was completely indifferent, most children rebel,
or make a pretense of rebelling, but I didn't give a damn, I was a philosopher…Why do people live in outlandish
climates in the temperate zones, as they are miscalled? Because people are naturally idiots, naturally sluggards,
naturally cowards…. Everything was for tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. The present was only a bridge and on this
bridge they are still groaning, as the world groans, and not one idiot ever thinks of blowing up the bridge….Whether
I die today or tomorrow is of no importance to me, never has been, but that today even, after years of effort, I cannot
say what I think and. enjoying nothing, desiring. Everything else is a lie - everything I ever did or said…I was something
else, something which no one suspected, least of all myself. dreaming, better than the contents of the books I read, better
than the conversations i had or the games which I played in the computer I used to wonder what i was dreaming of, what it
was ? Myself. I couldn’t learned yet how to dream…I was all chaos from the beginning, but sometimes I got so close to the
centre, to the very heart of the confusion, that it's a wonder things didn't explode around me. I would go in and ask for
most anything. It was a way of killing time - now worse, as far as I could see, than work itself. I was my own boss and I
had my own hours, but unlike other bosses I entrained only my own ruin, my own bankruptcy. I was not a corporation or a
trust or a state or a federation or a polity of nations - I was more like noting maybe something… look out again at the It
is blood-red. Everything above the horizon is dear to me. It is like Kusadasi Sunday. Death is behind me and birth too. I am
going to live now. I am going to live the spiritual life of the empaty, the secret life of the little man in the wilderness.
Inner and outer have changed places. Equilibrium is no longer the goal - the scales must be destroyed. Let me try to believe
for one day, while I rest in the open, that the sun brings good thinks. I believe all your lies implicitly. I take you as the
personification of evil, as the destroyer of the soul in the night. so that I may remember you. We must get going. Tomorrow,
tomorrow...