“One always needs to be reminded; one is by no means always in possession of one’s whole self. Our consciousness is feeble; only in moments of unusual clarity and vision do we really know about ourselves.” Thomas Mann
We separated things, we separated each other, we fucked and couldn’t wait to come, pull out, turn our backs around or leave. We didn’t want dramas but we also didn’t want boredom, we shared our morning coffee, our towels, a few glances and the Wi-Fi but we weren’t one any more and most likely we would never be – not with ourselves, not with another. We were particles who had come to Earth to do this and that, to get something, give away, try to live a little and go back. This whole wholeness was a myth that existed to keep us looking and searching, to make us weaker when we were lonely, when we were failing and when we thought we needed to be saved. Our personalities weren’t meant to be alone, but was anything ‘meant to be’ at all? What was really a personality? Naked endless heads loaded with too much thinking or mindless running to catch a train, a plane, a boat, all without a purpose; whatsoever we did, we had to get somewhere, stupid bars and non-bars, we had to move on with our lives, what for? At that particular instant of timeless shortage of magic, it was night everywhere in the world, spotlights in lonesome places, gang bangs-filled Millennium hotel rooms on Earth and empty Chelsea homes.
There was no theory of everything, only vain and calculated theories of small parts of the universe and of our little lives that didn’t define the entire human kind and the soulfulness of beings. We carried curiosity, neglect, selfishness, desire, impatience – how could all this be defined through the way of conveyance each one of us was experiencing? How could all this be one? Before defining or exploring anything, a thing first had to be real and we suffered all kinds of illusions that something was real, something that was dividing this world and the eternity, something that stood between love and obsession, pain and pleasure, dirty and good, but everything that was expressed and thought of, was only one-sided. We should rather believe in “all” instead of “whole”, I’d say, because all if our longings, desires, passions, anger, fear, mistakes were the world.
In and out if this world and our visions of it, between a slow dance and a brief encounter who could turn into someone important to us, we struggled with sharing outside of social media and snapchats, we struggled with trust, looking for reasons and explanations, holding on to our own perfectly filtered self-protected shells and comfort zones, but there always came a moment when everything else apart from being open felt insignificant, a mere particle of a foggy instant as clear as it could get. Missing to see it was scary, seeing it and not acting was scary too but if we didn’t feel scared then we weren’t taking a risk and if we weren’t taking a risk then what the hell were we doing? We had to nourish that openness, give in to second and third chances and more and more because without chances there were literally and obviously no days ahead of us. People pretended to strive for a better future, but all they really wished for was to change the past, make up for things, live a less dull life, be given innumerable chances and lives to keep on fixing or believing that they were moving on from everything hurtful. But what if we were only given repetitions and we had to live with our choices time after time? According to the philosophy of Eternal Recurrence, widely explored by Heine, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, there is infinite time and a finite number of events, and eventually the events will recur again and again infinitely: “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence.” – Nietzsche. How did that change the value of our lives’ content? It didn’t change a thing, because we had already fallen into the cycle of repetitions —
Only what is heavy has value – we walked the lines, we made a move, we let someone else lead us, push us, hold us and rush our heart beatings. The thing was, you see, our hearts got broken once or twice or more, but they kept on beating just the same. The moments we allegedly wanted and searched for weren’t behind things – they were right here in time, on time if we surrendered through endless pain and brief pleasures and if we weren’t too proud or embarrassed to admit of sometimes being weird, crazy, dramatic, rude, whatsoever. It was all right because the area dividing our brains and souls was mainly affected by experience and we were all brave to have come here, learn emotions and limitations to cross.
Everything had reality and today was the only alleged reality there was; the indestructible eternity of every moment, the contemporary existence, the long and many lives we wanted not being able to live up this one first. We wanted we wanted we wanted. To be loved, fucked, rich, admired, we gave nothing out we stayed in our bubbles disposable ideas and islands we dreamt of going to. We talked a lot, Monaco luxury lifestyle, Nam Long blurry nights, double espresso in the morning staring at phones, consumed with our own lives. What happened to that person who once turned us on, who inspired us, it was so easy to forget – did that mean that we were supposed to do something to keep them around for as long as we could, or did it mean that they weren’t meant to stay in our lives? How hard it was exactly to say something to someone who meant something? ‘Nunca es para siempre’ the good, the bad, the racing, the hearts, the fucking, the drinking, the trust, the spotless socks..
Berlin rooftop star gazing, people passing by in our lives, instants of desired eternities of orgasms and blow, not completely flushed by our realisation that it was better to be free from desire than incapable of letting go of those wonderful souls who searched for life at other regions, we remained forever challenged to say no to the things we wanted, inevitable to get a taste of the deliciousness of a climax and eventually say goodbye.
Maybe nothing meant anything after all, but we were all here at the same time and that meant enough glory. If everything else was transient – the momentary existence, the sharing, and speaking crazy truth was all. This was life, if you asked me today, I’d say speak the crazy truth fearless of the transient future to come.