In thoughts, the ultimate and extreme movement not executed in life. And the consequences, all of them afflicting and pulsating as soon as the head rests and the eyes close. The need to annihilate, never forgetting a single word, carrying out all the violent impulses controlled by the rational manifesting itself, every night, while silence reigns outside. In life, in art, the effort to slow them down, the effort to mask their monstrous character, the effort for the predominance of conscience. And so the mind submerges into double life.
Category: Notes
It Is Not Possible to Detach From Surroundings
It is true: it is not possible to detach from surroundings, to be a ghost, completely alien to time. The environment, like it or not, is an important component. However, there is a daily and useful exercise that consists of distancing oneself, or in other words, to be silent. To turn eyes inward and, as far as possible, ignore surroundings. Choose isolation, deny active participation, accept and adapt. Seek, if possible, to close ears, blocking out external influence. And thus, allow that only the inextinguishable part, or, let’s make a concession, the essential part, remains of the environment.
Nationalism and Stupidity
Few ideas seem as stupid to me as nationalism. I do not close the sentence and the mind points me to the objection: Dostoevsky, Hugo, Cervantes… I reject it. What these and many other “patriots” did goes beyond the limited boundaries of where they lived: the art they created is an expression of universal value. It would be unworthy to summarize them as “nationalists”. Nationalism is one of the many doors to stupidity, the ordinary patriot is a pretentious ignorant who always limits his intellect, thanks to that despicable feeling that Cioran repeatedly called péché contre l’esprit. Cioran: an example of courage and freedom of spirit; a man without a homeland; someone who has learned, in practice, that there is not an inch between national pride and the most abject idolatry.
Contradict the Convenient
When the bulk of routine drips, day after day, into practical matters, into banal activities that impose themselves on all the others, it is very difficult not to curse existence. The simplest solution: prevent the intellect from manifesting itself, silence the mind, never let it expand. Being late, what to do? seeking pleasure in practical life? getting a wife? children? Perhaps… Otherwise, it is to react against the imperative of necessity and, suffering the consequences of disdain for the convenient, find satisfaction in the voluntary act of revolt. There is nothing to curse… is there?