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Pocket | § 150

 


I have a massive soft spot for people who... Take this one guy, who left Minsk for the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but woods and lakes. For a quarter of a century now, he's been catching fish and building masonry stoves. People ask him: "What is your dream in life?" And he says: "I want to build a stove that blows smoke rings. I even know how," he says. "Build it, get it on video, and then tear it down..."

"Why?"

"Out of pure spite. Just so everyone knows I *can* build it, but I won't!"

Or take this other guy, another guru, who writes in a classified ad in the local paper: "I can give math and physics lessons, but I don't want to!" Followed by a phone number. That was a long time ago, I didn't save the number, but I'd definitely call him right now...

Then there's the third. Take Dorothy and Toto, swept out of the normal world into another. Remember how hard they tried to get back home? But the Third, of his own free will, said to hell with civilization and stayed in the other world forever. Even though they offered him a way back. And not just to come back, but to set up a business, even open up some sort of credit line for the venture... Wait, why am I talking about myself in the third person? Translating from allegorical to normal: the third is me, and I was the one they were waving money at...

And I was the one who said to hell with civilization and stayed in the other world forever. Well, or almost forever. Well, or at least I tried to... Nope, that's not right again. Let me start over.

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[ § 21 ] ПНЕВМА: Вечный рубец Гьокчеренде

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Choice | § 222

I sit and sit, I write and write… no, that‘s wrong. Here’s the right way: I translate and translate! I‘m sick of it! Suddenly I wanted to write not about the book, but about the process itself. Besides, the current fragment of text is not very convenient — it’s supposed to be about tragedy (I‘ll post it in the blog one of these days, call it “Pioneer Formula | § 42.2.” It’s about trauma, disability, and all the feelings that come with it — but that happened so long ago that the tragedy has evaporated from my head, and I don‘t feel like inventing new feelings, but I have to… So here I sit, I write… oh, we already did that. Then let’s try this: I stand like Buridan‘s ass — a shopaholic ass — in front of two piles of hay, trying to decide which one to choose: the one I have to or the one I don’t have to . I could roll dice (not my own — just regular dice), I could flip a coin — I have a special one, YES-NO, — or I could ask my Pocket Calculator. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, give me a topic …