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| Dubrovnik Seen from the Wall
But this is a different story, different century.
So clinical, so inhuman - it has no blood in it, no life, like dying without death, it goes on forever.
Now I understand the title of the film Drowning by Numbers.
I don't understand it, I feel it. And assume that if I understood better, I wouldn't feel so bad. I would fight, or just forget about it. |
8.1.2012
Why Do I Insist on Finding out Although It Makes Me So Sick
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Yes, there is that. Also, the captions are great, in spite of the narrative that strenghtens my urge to go sleep with the railroad tracks.
VastaaPoistaFLY AWAY, SON, ON THE DOUBLE
VastaaPoistaMOON OF HER BREAST
I tried to read Åsne Seierstad, her book "Angel of Grozny: Inside Chechnya", in Finnish. I could say something about that, our presidential candidates of bravery preaching peace and good relations with Russia, but I'm not going to. Now. Six pages into the book, I sensed something was wrong. I had to stop, and I'm not going back. Instead, I am going back to Miguel Hernández. In prison he wrote a poem called "Before Hatred". It is translated by Ted Genoways and ends like this:
…
No, there is no jail for man.
They can't shackle me, no.
This world of chains
is small and foreign to me.
Who locks up a smile?
Who walls in a voice?
There you are in the distance, more alone
than death, you and I.
You are far away, feeling
my prison in your arms,
in your arms, where freedom
beats like a heart for the two of us.
I am free. Feel me free.
Because of love.