Starkly Beautiful

That bitch has struck again…writer’s block, I mean…stagnating a writer’s blog! And right now I am not living a bloggable life anymore. Actually, last three weeks were a kind of welcome break: I participated in a sort of course about comparative literature and the arts and I was listening more – for six hours a day – instead of speaking incessantly (that way a teacher is condemned, he can’t even stop talking if he wants too; when he is actually thinking aloud – well, at least I think aloud in my lectures instead of presenting fully-formed complete speeches – he might like to pause somewhere, the pause might be pregnant with nuances). This mode of living for few weeks probably has turned me more into a recipient of words than a producer…probably that has temporarily robbed me of my writing abilities. Can’t even write long letters! (please don’t reveal it to be a lie!)

It really hurts that Love’s Ragpicker is also silent for so many days; but I have things to write about, just the ideas are fleeting in and out, without dropping napalms of words to burn me again…

Probably I have got the topic of my day…

The Spectral Third

I am not very disturbed Paul; I am sad, a year-old marriage broke up in an ugly way, I am sad that it happened… And I am surprised, irritated, blessed, doomed that in spite of a worst instance of break-up I remain in love and hopelessly so… In love with her? In love with someone new? Irrelevant.

Only I have lost my patience a bit, am a bit tired in the middle of my 30s…and I am writing away because I need answers to lots of newly acquired questions. I don’t need answers from anyone; I need to validate my questions. Those questions which can be articulated.

Was talking with a learned man today…phenomenology, Husserl, Levinas, Merleau-Ponty and stuff. Extremely underread I am, but I have the gift of asking correct questions. I won’t ever write about things in academic fashions in these pages; taking a break from speaking like a book, I will talk life here.

I was toying with the idea of falling in love as a process of falling in love with impossibility, a love which will always fall short of expectations,