Within

Si spunea(u):

‘‘We are the ones who dwelt within.’’

Within… ‘‘Inlauntru’’ e directia interzisa in Crestinism. In aceasta Scoala, totul se petrece ‘‘in afara’’. Aici, pana si exteriorul sta in-afara – si tot incearca sa iasa si mai mult decat deja e. Neincetat.

Nu poti exorciza ceea ce-i (deja in) afara. Nu poti exorciza ce nu are nume. Nu poti exorciza ce-i ‘‘doar’’ un numar.

Prea mult Nume in rugaciunea inimii. Nu-i de mirare ca multi dintre practicanti au fost considerati ca eretici. Ramane fascinanta atractia unor matematicieni catre Nume (probabil ca orice nume ar trebui scris cu litera mare… e prea mult sacru acolo ca sa nu):

‘‘At the heart of the birth of the Moscow School of Mathematics was a mystical religious impulse. This mystical doctrine was known as Name Worshipping. Two men were instrumental in establishing Name Worshipping among mathematicians, namely, Dmitri Egorov and Pavel Florensky (1882 – 1937).

Florensky communicated their ideas to Nikolai Luzin (1883 – 1950) and Dmitri Egorov (1869 – 1931), translating these concepts into mathematical parlance. In the early 1920s, there was a Name Worshipper Circle in Moscow where their ideas and the concepts of mathematics were brought together.’’ [x]

In Crestinism, demonul e demon penru ca sta inlauntru. Within. Sta in directia gresita. Odata scos afara, cel posedat se vindeca. Nu mai are Nume. Devine un numar, exterior. Cat despre demon, va cauta sa intre din nou. In orice, numai sa fie within.

…si spunea:

‘‘Naaaaaaaaames, Naaaaaaaaaameeeees!!!!!’’

Prastiasii

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Prastiasi in timpul tensiunilor recente (and ongoing) din Israel / Palestina.

…si spunea:

‘In tot poporul acesta, erau sapte sute de oameni alesi care nu se slujeau de mana dreapta [stangaci]; toti acestia, aruncand o piatra cu prastia, puteau sa ocheasca un fir de par si nu dadeau gres.’

– Judecatori 20:16

Michael & Winifred Bixler

Nu stiu… Probabil ca am pierdut eu sirul, probabil ca am pierdut eu ritmul (as vrea eu)… dar am asa din ce in ce mai mult impresia ca lucrurile devin cu adevarat puternice doar dupa ce trec cumva in fundal, doar dupa ce incetam sa mai vorbim despre ele. Doar dupa ce majoritatea nu se mai uita la ele.

Michael & Winifred Bixler nu este in nici un caz singurul exemplu de felul sau. Pe Lante am vorbit de-a lungul anilor despre Arion, The Fine Press Book Association, The Whittington Press.

Oricat de invizibili ar fi respectivii, ramane o placere sa realizezi ca au ramas langa noi. Ca nu au plecat niciodata, si ca problema e clipitul prea des.

The Bixler Press & Letterfoundry

Sir[ena]

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Duccio di Buoninsegna – Invierea lui Lazar (c. 1310)

Chestiile mici raman cele mai interesante. Faptul ca putini le acceseaza, mai ales cand e vorba de mici mizerii literare, le face sa-si pastreze duhoarea irationala cumva nealterata, indelungata. Sunt ca mormantul nedeschis al lui Lazar. Necitate copios, se prefac, amenintator, ca nu stiu despre ce-i vorba. Sunt firmiturile care nu au cazut (inca) de la masa Stapanilor.

Recent, am dat peste mine o astfel de chestie mica, scrijelitura lui Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, autorul super-vomitatului volum Leopardul. Chestia mica se numeste La sirena, tradusa in engleza ca The Professor and the Siren.

Am reusit sa gasesc cateva extrase din Sirena. Probabil ca mi-ar fi placut sa gasesc altele… recunosc. Altele, si nu in engleza.

Ipocrit, imi acopar nasul si citesc.

‘‘Above the fireplace, ancient amphorae and craters: Odysseus tied to the mast of his boat, the sirens casting themselves down onto the rocks in expiation for having let their prey escape. ‘Lies… the lies of petit bourgeois poets. No one escapes, and even if someone did, the Sirens would never destroy themselves for something so little. In any case, how could they die?’’

‘‘Never had she been so adorable as in those fifteen minutes of fury. I watched from the window as she emerged and moved away into the morning mist: tall, slender, adorned with regained elegance. I never saw her again, just as I never saw a black cashmere sweater that had cost me a small fortune and possessed the woeful merit of being cut to suit a woman just as well as a man. All she left were two of those so-called invisible hairpins on the bed’’

‘‘I believed that he also developed a certain affection for me, but I didn’t delude myself… it was similar to what an elderly spinster might feel for her pet goldfinch, whose vacuousness and lack of understanding she is well aware of, but whose existence allows her to express aloud regrets in which the creature plays no part; and yet, if the pet were not there, she would suffer a distinct malaise…’’

‘‘And in truth, the sun, the seclusion, the nights passed beneath the wheeling stars, the silence, the scant nourishment, the study of remote subjects wove around me a spell that predisposed me to marvels.’’

___

> O recenzie, aici.

> O lectura integrala, in italiana, aici.