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The man Without Qualities

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Me I made ... one of Colombia, one from Brazil, one of Argentina ... One of ... Germany when he was in high school. I have an English boyfriend ...

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Yes it is romantic.

9 songs - Michael Winterbottom

"And to think I wasted whole years of my life, I wanted to die, I've felt more love great for a woman who liked me, it was not my type! "

Swann in Love . Marcel Proust.

can not kill time with the heart. Everything takes time. Bees have to move very quickly to stay still.

Atop forever. David Foster Wallace.

Yukio Mishima were asked 24 years Confessions of a Mask, "Why do we carry all the burden of the obligation to destroy However, to change everything, give everything to expire? Will this unpleasant duty that people call life? ". Zygmunt Bauman expands the map of the senses in these fluid times all together and separated, all dive and revive, all possible symbolic death and resurrection "realizing the coexistence of the impulse towards freedom and longing for belonging." But always half-hearted, eager for a helping hand and fearful of the strength with which we can grasp the helping hand tomorrow. A daunting equation in which to keep moving is a stressful duty. Are you sure you want to move to X and all its components to the recycle bin? Want to upgrade and get the latest version of X?

If a company, we guarantee a refund if dissatisfied to echos with the product, why not aspire to the same with X?, Bauman ironically, while the media keeps pumping her Warning: Do not forget. There is nothing worse than gamble everything on one card! The medium-term promises are meaningless and you can not and should cer rarle the door to other possibilities rewarding. You yourself may be dismissed at any time! There is nothing easier than pressing the delete key . Stay online Watch for new networks. That is why virtual relationships with its factor on / off, increasingly succeed. culture hit single. Although, of course, follow that path liquid and lavishing in abundance also mitigates the distress or the desire to belong, that "till death do us part" as Neanderthal and only suitable for lazy minds, and our nature as domesticated. The feeling of insecurity and dread of our fragility are the sword and the wall between us: we set the pace and tighten the relationship between experience itself and the ritual. Blessed liturgy! A collective and consensual logic, like a tourist, where unique value of time means little compared to the social reproduction of the ceremony and bottling.

A perennial dilemma, but not the same today as yesterday. Lucan said that love means to be a hostage of fate. Perhaps now love means to be a hostage to the latest ad with music by Satie, Kundera or Henry Miller, Wong Kar-wai or Godard ... and time is running out, which runs between these lines. Hostage to endless representations of reality have been robbed and commodified human, relations mediated by structures at the border between sleep and wakefulness, when our impatience to regain the thread of a dream pleasant in wakeful unconsciousness leads to full unconsciousness of nowhere, deep sleep, awakening. "Everything that previously lived directly, now away in a performance," wrote Debord. Lives and more lives quietly killed by models of life bewitched, more wood for the bonfire of the capital. Industrial labeling everyone and everything, in order to avoid the hard work of drilling, with no room to solidification. Who guarantees that we find oil? The future is to remain human! The world becomes human for the simple fact that the human voice resound in it!


Throughout emotional consumption must seek the most cost-effective. Redeem always open to change. Bauman has no pity for human relations, overshadowed by the commercial sphere. Has no mercy. Neither the children, the main object of consumption. Not with phones, a device that allows us to stay connected, but always at a distance. Neither you, in your bell jar and your stale air. And it humanizes and victimization or be a victim guarantees moral authority. Oblivion only stands as a condition of success. "Always be drunk.'s All about: it is the only issue. To not feel the horrible burden of time that you break the shoulder and tilts you the ground, you have to be drunk without respite. But what? Wine, poetry or virtue, whatever you want. But are drunk! "Warns Baudelaire.




In Mishima no incentive to free and membership is so energetic, and also damn selfish, like death, a fact the one and only one does not learn for tomorrow. And he knew that death is not enough: we must die early, before the decadence Shingle their networks before the disability becomes a probability, and seizing the reins of destiny . So, 25 November the prolific writer, he left his editor L to corruption of an angel , the latest novel of his tetralogy The Sea of \u200b\u200bFertility , and held its final, pathetic act in defense of the emperor (Bunka boueiron ) and Nipponese traditions, he said gravely threatened by the western currents blowing in Japan. Gone was the beardless Mishima living WWII with political apathy and even cowardice to abandon its obligations decoys. His suicide is the most pathetic, to the lofty altars, circumcised between art ission and life: a brutal di ssociation difficult to reconcile and re nt his artistic sensibility and the public persona, to what we a full ultra-nationalism in of coherence. And then, why someone with his talent and intelligence as futile chose a pretext for the sacrifice that much ...? A contradiction in a sea of \u200b\u200bcontradictions of an egomaniac Mishima, always complex, always challenging, living somewhere between two opposing cultures: the Anglo and Japanese ancestry. Sensitive to its double impact, until the desire to represent his martyrdom and her narcissism drove her to the ritual with which both had fantasized, in life and work.

"All my life I've been aware of the contradiction that occurs in the nature of my existence. For forty years I have struggled to solve this dilemma by writing plays and novels. The more I wrote, I discovered that words are not enough. So I found another form of expression. "

"When a man reaches 40, there is the possibility of dying so beautiful. No matter what you try, you will die of decline. You have to force yourself to live. "

From small Mishima idealized death through art of the everyday landscape of a country at war or his ailing grandmother. Chained to a frail body, death always lurked in his thoughts and he relished morbidity in the bombing, always bordering. Also, very young his homosexuality made him adopt different masks in battle for his claim, while playing from a distance to a socially agreed normal. Confessions of a Mask, Mishima's first work, written just 24 years, recounts his homosexual awakening and self-destructive tendencies, their uncontrollable attraction to death, beauty and blood the constant scaffolding of his personality, his cult of the body so insanely Western classical roots though and sensitive ...


transgressive for its thematic work and transparency, Confessions of a Mask was a bestseller, and this contributed existential prose and decadent, and their naked paragraphs. Also frank exposure of their uncertainties and their open mistrust of will and character to guide his behavior. And the terror of weakness, attached to his vanity, which led him to become a warrior and builder. "As part of my self-discipline system, adopted since childhood, kept telling me it was better to die than to become a person warm, unmanly, he does not know clearly what pleases and what displeases him, someone who only wants to be loved and not love "This was the crossroads of resolving never ended. Exhausted all the words, spent his twilight. The more I wrote was more aware that the words were in decline, the same words that once allowed him to build their world, build itself, but because it had nothing to do with the pounding sound of the waves, with disabilities who are approaching and with the chance of a late and ridiculous act of moral heroism doomed. Fell the mask and the man appeared.

"Everyone says that life is a stage. But most people fail, it seems, obsessed by this idea, or at least not as soon as I am. At the end of my childhood was firmly convinced that it was, and had to play my role on that stage without ever revealing my real way of being. As this conviction was accompanied by a tremendous ingenuity, a total lack of experience, although there was the constant shadow of doubt in my mind that made me suspect that perhaps was not right, what is certain is that all men focused life exactly as if it were a theatrical performance. Optimistically believed that as soon as the performance was over the curtain would fall and the public would never see the actor without makeup. My assumption is that he would die young was another factor that helps to maintain that belief. However, over time, that optimism, or, rather, that dream while awake, would end in a cruel disappointment. "

Confessions of a Mask. Yukio Mishima