Is blogging supposed to be an act of penance? My own little private confession booth where I mostly opt for silence? Think not. Probably in the words of some wisecrack philosopher, come to think of it: Think not! Well, conscientious penance it is. At the moment everything is. Food, drink, sex, sleep not included. That’d be the day. Strange day indeed. Locked inside a prison of my own device. Seems like my intellect has folded. Gone to the woods not to discover, when it dies, that it has not lived. A friend told me always to delete the last paragraph of any text you write. The paragraph where art dies and opinion takes over, you know. Guess it holds true for the first paragraph as well. The paragraph where your fingers rediscover the joy of typing. To hell with it. This is a blog. This is penance.
I am staying in a halfway-house that spells ”routine” the wrong way ’round, and tells me it doesn’t add up. I’d sleep on the floor anytime soon. One of my housemates just poured himself a cup of coffee. At two’o’clock – O Clock! – on a Monday morning. Says it all, doesn’t it? ”Anatomy of a Murder” ate away my evening. I went for chicken biryani instead. James Stewart is brilliant, but why should I sympathize with a jealous husband who shoots up his wife’s lover? Rape must have had a different ring to it back in the fifties. So had Duke Ellington. Never thought I’d see him as a grey-in-grey pie-eyed pianoman on the silver screen.
I’m going to the US&A in February. Is the American dream a divider or a uniter? A week a state. How long is it gonna take before I find out? Is life gonna keep deleting its final paragraphs too? Maybe, maybe not. Hot hot hot. Sounds more like child’s play to me. Anyway, I’m going, and I’m looking forward to it. Truly, I am. Just like I’m looking forward to Bulgaria. That’s next month, by the way. And my girlfriend’s coming along too. Not bad. Not bad at all. Houses hanging onto the edge of cliffs like scared sheep caught up in vines. And below, the river. The river runs through it. Through it all. The Buddha displaced the gods.
All in all I must’ve spend some two or three years studying Sanskrit. Yesterday I had my first occasion for practising it outside of university grounds. A friend wanted me to translate a couple of words for a wedding ring inscription. It took me six hours to come up with a proper suggestion. Wouldn’t wanna mess up a wedding ring, would you? Wouldn’t wanna mess up the only solid piece of work to survive you. The very stone one kicks with one’s boot will outlast Shakespeare. I’m in it for the quotations. I said that.
It’s not that … It’s just that … On and on a-rolling. Does a document document? So help me Art! Have you ever emptied an ashtray to convince yourself that you smoke less than you do? Have you ever emptied a bottle to prepare for sleep? This is turning into yet another last paragraph.
I love to fix bikes when the garden is flowery, when the weather is warm, when my friends are around, when there’s beer in the fridge. I even like to ride them. The American dream is an American car, and I’m gonna learn to drive one. Wonder if I’ll like it, wonder if I’ll love it. Did you know that the Bulgarian national epic is titled ”Under the Yoke”? My love of freedom is so intense. I’m gonna blog whenever the hell I feel like it. Hail to penance! It’s a process of learning. No harder than riding a bike, no harder than driving a car. I reckon and I figure. The floor is calling. Think I’ll go for the bed instead. Rhyme is reason. Let’s swim to the moon.