Vivo y después me fijo si existo

I figured it out. It’s no one else’s battle but ours. Gide’s ‘Strait Is The Gate’ and Hesse’s ‘Narcissus and Goldmund’ would confirm the strong course of actions over the past couple of months. To say I’ve touched five diverse countries in less than one year says a lot. Maybe even too much. I forget that like Kant, who only stayed in his small town, there is Odysseus, who stayed away too long. And that like Greek Theatre, every suffering we’ll ever know has already occurred and been acted. Isn’t this wonderful?

After watching a film about love, death and suffering, I walked out thinking “we should read more of the Greeks”. In essence, everything we do is a readaptation of these robust characters and so: sure, everyone wants to be someone, but isn’t it better to start with a source of truth right in our backyards?

The selling of one’s soul to the devil with Goethe, might assure us of this. But unfortunately we’re too stuck up as actors in the theories of Adorno’s Culture Industry… so wonderful; we’re being analyzed all the time. Fortunately for us, we realize the essence of this when we travel, “¿y cómo saber quién es uno mismo sin haberse expuesto primero al cambio? Viajar implica poner a prueba a diario la propia identidad. Y eso es deseable.”
My friend not only realized that backpacking through the Middle East was possible, but when he came back to write his book he found that others would read it. So here it is, in my hands, his words on how he looks to “refute the evidence of the threatening world” and how his goal in life is to travel writing, portraying the human bondage most say is “unreal.”

And as I read too much Adorno and Benjamin, walking me through the guidelines of art’s death and needs for revival, I like to feed myself with Malevich who finds that ‘with the most primitive means the artist creates something which the most ingenious and efficient technology will never be able to create.’ Yes, fuck anything else. Art is the only invention anyways. It required purification of the soul long before everything else.

But then again this cathartic sensation we own in the theatre means, we’re all doomed to be ourselves, and the show is cancelled.

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