after this discussion i joined my legalbrains friend for another round of hydro-masage and steam room at his health club. he had just returned from ibiza, once more, on saturday, and had stopped on the way back from the geneva airport in lausanne and gone to the pinkbeach. he got a bit frustrated in ibiza, and i pointed out that the source of frustration is not ibiza, he conceded. still, we eventually return to the issue of why i am not to be won over for the idea of going to the pinkbeach and we are discussing this matter while in the "naked zone" at his health club. without glasses i am as blind as a bat, or almost, i can neither see up close nor at the distance, so the male nudeness was nothing that i can appreciate much while there, monkeys would have done just fine, but would not have behaved quite as civilly. the health club is however a family-type serious establishment, nothing of the sort of the pinkbeach in lausanne, which albeit serious about business has no claims to be family friendly, it is just a very liberal meeting place for all permutations of naked encounters to take place with various degrees of sexual interplay, however i am also assured that it is a place to just go for a sauna without any of the side activities. it is like this, there is more to man that skin and anatomy. period. not that i am immune to looking at men as sexual objects, it is just not what i am in the mood for these days. go figure. i am not one to figure my moods. if i could, i could not call it my moods.
i have always claimed to not be able to write a mystery. slowly i suspect that this very blog is turning into mystery pure. who is the man in black? who is the mathematician? where do they live? and what does any of this have to do with the price of coffee in china?
perhaps life is nothing more than one big mystery, or that is what i am starting to suspect. i certainly can not figure it out. while in the nice works of fiction which we call films, there is, in most cases, an open and shut case of a story, some decorated with much brutality, others with much fantasy, and a majority with a lot of marketing, in life, real or online, the open and shut case is evasive. some nameless people in other blogs will go about searching for the truth, and they will rant to no end when another poor sucker -- that is usually me -- goes on and does not give didly about said truth.
perhaps i am still just trying to come to terms with the fact that life seems to be just one big recovery exercise, recovery from life itself, that is. still these days, either my moods, or my perception are such that i am encountering wonderfully loving people all around me, people who reach out and want to be touched and be reminded that they are alive, still alive. a friend of mine casually asked me on saturday if i had lost weight because i was either in love or was going through a crisis. i smiled and asked if he really wanted to know, he turned around, smiled too, and said, better not, he has lost weight too. i had not noticed, but i would not contest his word, and i took my turn and asked him if was in love, or was having a crisis. again, the smile, that shy expression of i wish i could tell you, but nobody understands. in between two breaths he said something to express that his life has always been a crisis. that was both a rather superficial and a much too reveling and truthful exchange of curiosity. we had not seen each other since the spring, and in the spring i had a couple of kilos more than today, but i have only gone from slim to slimmer, and i was surprised that anybody at all had noticed, still that fact is insignificant. given what i know, and what he knows, that was one very honest exchange. the slogan goes "reach out an touch someone," he did, and he asked me the distance between lausanne and zurich. i have no clue as to why he lost weight, much less of a clue why i did not notice it, and i know that i am in a crisis, and he knows that, and there is no need to talk about it. it is an orthogonal world, as though realities could penetrate one another without touching.
yesterday in searching for some clarity in my ideas, i dug out notes that i wrote in the late 70's and early 80's and among them i found a whole collection of love letters from one loyal friend who continues to share in this empty and meaningless life of mine. i was overwhelmed by the stash of information, and i was overwhelmed with the strength and imperative of my words past. still, i am having a tough time dealing with all that material, especially what i wrote in the early 80's as it seems to me so painfully and tortuously dry.
when i told the mathematician to not worry if he does not have internet access during the next week while he is on a lecture tour in the usa, i told him that i would not run away with the postman in the meantime. i also then realized that i do not know my postman since i hardly ever get post delivered at the door, it all goes to the post office box. still, today the door bell rings, it is the postman, he says he could not see my name on the boxes and there was a package for me. the package was very touching, it was a thank you gift form a family whom i had helped clear their cellar for a few hours after the floods in the matte. i expected no gifts from my neighbors, and i am very touched by the gesture. loving people reaching out everywhere for just a touch of humanity. the postman came to the door, and i did not run away with him. my sense of humor is beyond logic, i find this amusing.
still i am at a point similar to the one when one day i tore a whole pile of newspapers into shreds and created a sea bed of shredded news on the floor of my home office about 19 years ago. it is perhaps time to shred some newspapers again, i feel myself struggling, if not with life, then with sanity, and frankly i do not know what is better, its presence or its absence. how fortunate can i be, that no matter how much i struggle and suffer, there is always one ready to catch me in his arms, should i ever fall?
it is not a film.
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