We play at getting lost as children. We play at getting lost for life. Man retains, in his deepest being, this pure anxiety of eternal bewilderment. Man plays because by playing he loses; or he may lose something, and he may lose something of himself by playing. Man plays because he loses; otherwise he would not play. When he wants to win it is to lose again: to lose even more, and always. Man tries to get lost, in the game as in everything. And he doesn’t always succeed. José Bergamin.
“I didn’t fight anyone because nobody was worthy of my struggle. I loved nature and, with nature, art: warm both hands to the fire of life; It fades, and I’m ready to go.” Walter Savage Landor
“If people go to jail for robbing the bank, the bank should go to jail for robbing the people”.
The horizon will be left in the air for centuries, the path will be covered, nights and days punctuated by shadows, time suspended with no other place than the screen. One last space on earth to explore, undefeated, unconquered. We will camp in ruined museums. In the sky, the distance leading to the archives is reduced. All images being stored permanently, the volume of the archives will be such that all things that are born will be devoured.
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms…” Henry David Thoreau,
Each human face looks the same, but at the same time is totally different from one another. The Gemara Sanhedrin says: Each person was created with a distinct face, mind and voice. Nowadays the principle has not changed but maybe we have?.
With our hectic lifestyles , cybernetic soul, we have lost our ability to relate to other people with an open ear, understanding heart, and true empathy? We only have machinic algorithms. As said Boris Pasternak in Dr. Zhivago: “ It’s a sickness lately. I believe the causes are moral. The vast majority of us require constant hypocrisy, erected in a system. But you can’t, without consequences, show yourself every day different from what you feel: sacrifice for what you don’t love, rejoice in what makes us unhappy. The nervous system is not a void sound or invention. Our soul occupies a place in space and lies inside us like teeth in the mouth. You can’t rape her endlessly.”
We have only two ways to relate to one another. It can be “panim b’panim” or “achor b’achor,” “face to face,” or “back to back.” That means people can actually relate directly to each other (face to face) or they can be as far apart as two people standing back to back. When two people are standing back to back, they are further apart that they are from anybody else in the entire world. The entire circumference of the world separates them. Whereas when people are directly engaged with each other in a conversation, or the like, it is an actual connection between two people in a real way. Only in that place we may find a face that loves us beyond any transitional misunderstanding .
« Il est difficile aux hommes de notre monde non seulement de comprendre la cause de leur situation désastreuse, mais d’avoir conscience du caractère désastreux de cette situation, principale conséquence du désastre essentiel de notre temps qui s’appelle le progrès et qui se manifeste par une angoisse fébrile, une précipitation, une tension dans un travail ayant pour but ce qui est absolument inutile ou à l’évidence nuisible, par une ivresse permanente de soi-même dans des entreprises constamment renouvelées qui dévorent tout le temps dont on dispose et, surtout, par une fatuité sans borne. Il y a là des dirigeables, des sous-marins, des dreadnoughts, des immeubles de cinquante étages, des parlements, des théâtres, des télégraphes sans fil, des congrès de la paix, des armées de millions d’hommes, des flottes de guerre, des professeurs d’écoles de toutes sortes, des milliards de livres, de journaux, de réflexions, de discours, de recherches. Et pris dans cette vaine agitation fébrile, dans cette précipitation, dans cette angoisse, dans cette tension provoquée par un travail ayant toujours comme but ce qui est absolument inutile et de toute évidence nuisible, se trouvant en outre dans une telle admiration immuable de soi-même, au point que non seulement les hommes ne voient pas, mais ne veulent pas, ne peuvent pas voir leur propre folie, et ils en sont fiers, les hommes en attendent toutes sortes de bienfaits sublimes, et dans cette espérance ils s’enivrent de plus en plus dans des entreprises constamment nouvelles qui n’ont qu’un seul et unique dessein – s’oublier, et ils s’enlisent de plus en plus profondément dans une impasse, dans des contradictions aussi bien politiques et économiques que scientifiques, esthétiques et éthiques insolubles ». (Du suicide, Leon Tolstoy, Paris: L’Herne, [1910] 2012, pp. 32-34.)
Try to understand what they want? What do they want? …They don’t know at all! The radicals? The monarchy? The return to “the way it was”? Socialism? Fourierism?Electoral civil war? Alexandre Dumas as dictator?The Mascuraud committee?Léon Blum? Reynaud? The Jesuits? The proportional electoral system? The lotteries? The Great Moghul? What do they want? They have no idea …They have mucked up, rotted, puked up everything through and through, everything that they touch will be the same, vomit, excrement, in two days. They want to remain old horses, unkempt, paddlers, drunkards, that’s all. They don’t have any other plan. They want to make claims everywhere,totally and on everything, and then that’s more than one can bear. A country is destroyed with “rights”, with supreme rights, with rights to nothing, with rights to everything, with rights of the jealous, with rights of famine, of storms. Between us!
Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s A Fine Mess – Les Beaux Draps
Although the world is matter, the impression we have of ourselves is watery. In the dark aquarium filled with dark water, we do not know the fishes that live in our depths. sometimes the tenant opens a new window, a door that he does not usually open and the water enters, penetrates and floods us. This what gives the impression that between the physicality of the world and the perception we have of ourselves exists a gap that nothing can fill.
The heart is ablaze when the retina is only sensitivity, expressing immediately and despite itself, the slightest material contact or the most insignificant local congestion or intoxication. when the heart is emotion and responds only to affects, the retina is instinct and responds only to light. place of passage, zone of transmission of the slightest signal, the retina is the source of the optical nerve, this long river which carries the flow of images to the visual cortex, mouth giving access to pure consciousness, this unfathomable ocean, where questions rarely find their answers and where the images collapse, powerless to illuminate the abyss that we are.
Selbstwehr 
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