Smiling, I crash into something soft and scented.
I feel it rolling in my guts, gargling up my body, then gushing out inextricably. I am laughing so hard at the skies, my jaw seems to border on disjointment.
Because -
I am I and no one else is. I am a sum of atoms and a sum of seconds that I cannot transfer completely to someone else. This is not an attempt.
I am in the middle of most things.
I was part of a group of sparkling teenagers in an old European highschool with its pure high-brow scholar traditions. Around structures, we built details. Not as many new things under the sun as you might think, but that’s not a tragedy. Enough moaning, Miss Electra.
By 17, our minds were finer than those of average teachers and we could communicate meaningfully with extraordinary teachers. Perhaps largely because of that, there has never been a void between me and adults. By 18, either I had read books that the vast majority of adults I knew had not or I was able to articulate better around them. The pristineness of someone discovering late what I have read early makes me smile.
I have both Renaissance streaks in terms of breadth and beauty of form and Gothic manner of subordinating form to idea. I string words with care and pisceanly realise things can be communicated in other, more complete ways.
I play the poliphonies of satiric Romanian, clean English, polished French, earthy Spanish, Aristotle’s logic and its late consequences, our computing machines, the sirens Douce and Kennedy, numbers as exhaustive pure mathematics on one end and useful applied mathematics and the conventions of accounting on another, Picasso’s rose circus, the beauty and tidal waves of bodies expressing ideas, networks in all senses, hollow men and Lazaruses, esoterism as unfolding of One in infinite Multiples to be realised as thumb on a page and lightning, sublimated poetry for correct aesthetics and this is not something I mean rigidly, neither lightly, universes in novels and theatrical cubes, formalizations and theories of soft and hard things, points and counterpoints, labyrinths, interconnection of systems.
Art saves me from science. Science saves me from art. I have now chosen an equal to close such circles in me.
And yet…. And yet, despite having all the right potential and things being generally very amusing, I am not a hiheelselitistbitch. I wear flats among dandelions and sometimes that is all that is.
