Friday

Sometimes you get the feeling like all your life, all your readings, all your pastimes, they all lead towards one conclusion, one epic revelation. One thought that sparks within the confines of your brain cells like it has always been there. A gentle throb, almost like a heartbeat that you cannot escape without at the same time giving up on life. A brick wall that has always been staring you in the face, waiting for the inevitable collision that you try to postpone for as long as possible. And you run from it. You hide from it. You ignore it. But there is no escape. The harder you push, the harder it pulls you back.

I am talking about the endless quest for meaning. Libraries and libraries have been filled with philosophical literature on the subject and still no answer in sight. Or at least not a pretty one. We all need something to wake up for in the morning. Be it exams or hunger or a cause or a job. But what does it all add up to in the end? Should we live for ourselves or for others? Should we embody goodness and morality or just experience life in its raw form without any limits or concerns for what we leave behind? Does it even matter in the end?

I am sometimes so tired of all this philosophical debate. Everything seems pointless. Pompous. Arrogant. We talk to pass the time. To give ourselves importance. Because maybe that is what life is about. To be noticed. If somebody is thinking about you, then you did your job right. If people like your status or your picture, then you somehow feel like you matter. Within your own little microcosm, you have your time in the spotlight. Even if that means only the one second that it took to press a virtual button on a dusty screen. It is better than nothing. It means that for that one second you occupy a space in another person's consciousness. Our worst fear is not disease nor famine nor war. Anyway these concepts only exist on a theoretical level in our minds. No, it is to be forgotten. Invisible. To die alone of a heart attack and to be found only a week later when the smell makes our physical presence unbearable anymore.

We embody a devil-may-care culture during the day and cry ourselves to sleep like children during the night. We pretend to be strong because nobody wants to see flowers when they are withering away and smelling of decay. We are all so lost that we can only be attracted to idols who inspire us to be better and greater. Does it matter that the idols themselves are nothing but images? Every role model has to crumble once in a while. At least during the intermission. The show can go on afterwards.

We are so scared to make goodbyes final. Nobody says "have a nice life" and actually mean it. It has to be disguised into an "maybe we'll see each other again". Even when there is no intention nor desire to do so. "Let's stay friends". The magic pacifier. Because "I never want to speak to you again" seems so harsh. Still better than "I sometimes forget you exist". Rejection and indifference seem inevitable in this world where the population is constantly growing and the distance disappearing. We are all squished into a tiny room with all the faces blending in together and becoming simply part of the decorum. And there comes the need to stand out. Because your options are to either reject the whole ordeal or to sign the social contract. But the first one is only really there to make you feel like there actually is a choice to be made. There isn't. Nobody can be self-sufficient. Even Robinson Crusoe had Friday. And we all need our Fridays. But Friday only comes once a week.

The myth of religion: an essay on the absurd

Contrary to what the title might indicate, I'm not going to write a philosophical treaty on the meaning of life and how religion fits into it all (it could be interesting, but I frankly don't have the time right now). This is more of a reaction to an article that I recently discovered (thanks to Facebook yet again...I'm really starting to get impressed). It describes the situation of Chechen women who are abducted at a young age and then forced to marry their kidnappers (it is estimated that one in five marriages occurs like this). And if that weren't enough, dissident young brides are brought to an exorcist who will try to extirpate the "genie" that is planting such ideas into their heads. Now let's take a moment to ponder on that shall we? GENIES?? Seriously?? What else? The tooth fairy is the one who secretly makes us believe that going to the dentist is painful? Elves and garden gnomes are the ones who fill my pool with algae and make the water all green? The world of Harry Potter is real and the latest economic crisis is just another one of Voldemort's clever schemes to rid the world of muggles? Now I know that logic isn't one of religion's strong points (my excuses to the few rational believers out there, I know that some of you are actually making an effort to render religion plausible), but in this case it's really not that hard to tie two and two together (P.S: it makes four!). You force someone to do something they do not want to do and they will not be happy. End of the story. No magical creatures and haunting souls need to intervene. It happens by itself. And the worst of it is that, sometimes, the women themselves are willing participants in this act and, in addition to that, they come back for more even though it is painful. I really have no words for this except for the fact that it is incredible what the human mind can accept when it is placed in extreme conditions.

Here is an excerpt from the article that really struck me:


"The patient was lying blindfolded on her back, wearing a long, flowery robe. Mairbek began yelling verses from the Koran into her ear and beating her with a short stick.

'She feels no pain,' he said. 'We beat the genie and not the patient.'

The woman, probably in her early twenties, was writhing on the bed: 'Shut up! Leave me alone,' she growled.

Mairbek claimed this strange voice belonged to the genie possessing her. He shouted back: 'Take your claws out of this woman. Aren't you ashamed? Go on! Leave her body like you did last time, through her toe.'

With a deadpan expression, Mairbek explained that the genie inside the girl was 340 years old.

He was not a Muslim - he was a Russian man called Andrei and he had fallen in love with his victim.

The genie was so jealous that he made her leave her husband. 'It was a tough case,' he added. This was already the seventh time he had treated this patient.

[...]I asked Mairbek if he always blamed the genies for marital breakdown. Perhaps, I suggested, some women are traumatised by being abducted and forced into marriage or by losing their children?

Mairbek was dismissive.

'We have so many young girls with these problems. I had a patient today whose genie tells her she should divorce, that her husband doesn't love her; that she shouldn't stay in an unhappy marriage for the sake of the children.'

'But that's just the genie trying to get its own way and we have to put a stop to that,' he said."


You can find the full article here.

Monument in the memory of Pasolini

I feel myself slipping. On the board of insanity, the abyss lying at my feet, I slowly drift towards the dark confines of my mind. This macabre obsession, continuously unearthing skeletons from the dark pages of history, seamlessly absorbs the words of devious spirits and little by little becomes one of them. A man who writes a script about cannibalism, is he horrified or fascinated by it? By criticizing society and its absurdities do we rise above it or do we fall into the pit of hypocrisy? Touching the fine line between solid ground and a freefall jump, exhilaration runs through my veins. I try to prolong the feeling for as long as possible before it fades away and the mundane world takes back its place. I like to toy with the idea of crossing the line, of going past the point of no return. But that will not happen. Not tonight. For now, I remain irrevocably sane.

“Tatal lui era un prof de filozofie. In viata mea nu am vazut un om atat de trist.”