Freud Ab Initio

J: So ... I got something.
A: What?
J: An inter-lingual pun.
A: An inter-lingual pun?
J: An Inter-Lingual pun.
A: What's an inter-lingual pun?
J: Its a ...
A: ... and don't say its a pun that's inter-lingual
J: ...
A: ...
J: Well, it is....
A: Brilliant. What is it?
J: 'Ab Initio'
A: Ab Initio?
J: 'Ayb Initio'
A: I don't get it.
J: It's a vice that exists from the beginning. 'Aib Initio'
A: That's stupid. And don't say I need to know a bit of Urdu to get it.
J: Maybe.  But you'll be using it.
A: Oh I dont think so.
J: Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the day after that, maybe not the ...
A: oh stop already. What's next?
J: I've been reading Story - 

"As a story begins, the protagonist is living a life that's more or less in balance. He has successes and failures, ups and downs. Who doesn't? But life is in relative control. Then, perhaps suddenly but in any case decisively, an event occurs that radically upsets its balance, swinging the value-charge of the protagonist's reality either to the negative or to the positive.... The climax brings about absolute and irreversible change."

I mean my highs compared to my lows are ... one in a million, I mean, thats ... thats not true, i mean thats an exaggeration, more like, you know, one in, like, five hundred

J: The positive climax in my life would have to be getting telekinetic superpowers, destroying the world and then walking alone...
A: ooh. 'Disstrawying the wurldd'. Seriously?
J: I don't know, maybe all the people were already dead or something. You know, I just ... I have this image of smashing up cars against each other; walking forward in front of a backdrop of telekinetically orchestrated mass destruction
A: Charming. What movie?
J: Who the hell knows anymore.
A: Certainly not you.
J: Yeah.
A: I bet the negative climax is even more ... er ...
J: Charming?
A: I was going for creepy, but sure...
J: The negative climax would be giving up all effort, all thought. Suicide by alcoholism.
A: Really?
J: Yeah. 'Overwhelmed by soul crushing failures in all avenues, our protagonist, deeply defeated, distraught, disturbed, demoralized, deranged and depressed decides to de-exist himself by drinking himself to death'
A: uh huh. uh huh. um ... I have a question.
J: Shoot.
A: I will. But first, have you even ever had alcohol?
J: No... But I loved Leaving Las Vegas. I think I could do alcoholism. ... Yeah. I can definitely wrap my head around it.
A: Dear lord.
J: Look, the proverb goes, "the dude who has worries, has alcohol too" ...
A: Actually it goes, "Whoever has cares, has liquor too"
J: Aalu, aalu; dude. Point is, I got cares, and stuff ... I could use some liquor
A: Yeah, not the worst idea you've had. Freud even said something of this sort was indispensable. But it's not your Aib Initio. ... Damn it!

Walker: It's perverse, isn't it? people spend years developing their minds and educating themselves, but in the end, they just want to shut them off.

A warm December with you

Doubt thou the stars are fire; 
Doubt that the sun doth move; 
Doubt truth to be a liar; 
But never doubt I love. 
O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; 
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that 
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu


I've never read Shakespeare. I'll stop there, because a blogpost is not enough to document all the 'normal' things that I have wanted to do and haven't. Some, because there hasn't been time to do them the way they are meant to be done - going all out. Most, because there just hasn't been the right combination of happenstance and Will to transform. The right combination of talent and effort. The right combination of opportunity and motive power.

The trouble with a weak will is that it neither attacks nor recedes. It neither goes after the desire with complete force, nor accepts the absence of capacity to achieve. When it forgives, it forgives too easily; when it chides, its criticism is destructive. Its happinesses are meager and too quick, but far worse, its sadnesses are not tragic. A breakdown of self integrity causes but the mere disappointment of a moment, soon forgotten.

Self Actualization is optional, it says.

I have not art to reckon my groans: but that 
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu

February. Get Ink. Shed Tears.

Regina Spektor - Apres Moi

I, oh, must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't yours
I, oh, must go on standing
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
Be afraid of the lame
They'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old
They'll inherit your souls 
Be afraid of the cold 
They'll inherit your blood
Apres moi, le deluge 
After me comes the flood
I, oh, must go on standing
You can't break that which isn't, isn't yours, yours
I, oh, must go on standing 
I'm not my own, it's not my choice
Be afraid of the lame
They'll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old 
They'll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold 
They'll inherit your blood 
Apres moi, le deluge 
After me comes the flood 
Be afraid of the lame 
They'll inherit your legs 
Be afraid of the old 
They'll inherit your souls 
Be afraid of the cold 
They'll inherit your blood 
Apres moi, le deluge 
After me, the flood
Fevral, dostat chernil i plakat,
Pisat o Fevrale navzryd,
Poka grohochuschaya slyakot
Vesnoyu chornayu gorit. (x2) *
Be afraid of the lame 
They'll inherit your legs 
Be afraid of the old 
They'll inherit your souls 
Be afraid of the cold 
They'll inherit your blood 
Apres moi, le deluge 
After me comes the flood 
I, oh, must go on standing 
You can't break that which isn't yours 
I, oh, must go on standing 
I'm not my own, it's not my choice 
I, oh, must go on stan, standing, ding 
You can't, can't break that, that which isn't, isn't yours, yours
I, oh, must go on stan, standing, dong
I'm not my, my own, own, it's not my, my choice
.
*(Russian-To-English:)
February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.
.
The portion from Russian is from a Poem by Boris Pasternak - 
.
Fevral'. Dostat' chernil i plakat'!
Pisat' o fevrale navzryd,
Poka grohochushaya slyakot'
Vesnoyu chernoyu gorit.
Dostat' proletku. Za shest' griven,
Chrez blagovest, chrez klik koles,
Perenestis' tuda, gde liven'
Eshe shumnei chernil i slez.
Gde, kak obuglennye grushi,
S derev'ev tysyachi grachei
Sorvutsya v luzhi i obrushat
Suhuyu grust' na dno ochei.
Pod nei protaliny cherneyut,
I veter krikami izryt,
I chem sluchainei, tem vernee
Slagayutsya stihi navzryd.
.

Translation - 
.
Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
Of February, in sobs and ink,
Write poems, while the slush in thunder
Is burning in the black of spring.
Through clanking wheels, through church bells ringing
A hired cab will take you where
The town has ended, where the showers
Are louder still than ink and tears.
Where rooks, like charred pears, from the branches
In thousands break away, and sweep
Into the melting snow, instilling
Dry sadness into eyes that weep.
Beneath - the earth is black in puddles,
The wind with croaking screeches throbs,
And-the more randomly, the surer
Poems are forming out of sobs.
.
1912 Translated by Lydia Pasternak Slater