death * death2 ...
Bad Theories, Wrong Subjects View
I should know better; for two thousand years we saw him on the cross, the man. What could I expect?
Every time I say "death" -- read "resurrection"!
2003 - 2008:
SummaryI wish I could see it, the new face of death. Many faces. The Greeks saw their gods, why not me? Our Tanatos isn't hidden, more visible as ever -- the kingdom of death is advertised and broadcasted. Speak, speak!
2004 & After
We know this much Death is an evil; we have the gods' word for it; they too would die if death were a good thing.Sappho (tr. Barnard)
DEATH? LIFE-WISHMy soul is weary of my life; I will leave my complaint upon myself; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.Almost thirty years ago one old Soviet writer, Lyvovsky said to me: "You can't be offended by life."
I know that I am insulted by it. I feel it.
Why do I have to accept -- the ugliness?
The reason for my defection from USSR was (in final analysis) of an aesthetic nature. I couldn't stand the idiocy anymore. Everything was stupid, including myself. My Soviet plays -- I wrote more than Chekhov in my short Soviet life. The breath of the Soviet citizens alone could drive you crazy. I divorce myself from Mother-Russia because she was too ugly to look at.
How ugly life is! Since I recognized myself, I had to suppress this constant feeling. About other people, about myself. I have to talk myself into loving life. What else do I have? If nothing but life how could I have this resentment?
Life is the horror, not death. The love I had and have isn't enough to balance the repulsion I have this semi-human life I go through. Too much of the garbage, the monstrosity -- and I am not allow myself to scream: they are not like me! I have to respect them, them all I don't respect. And I am among them.
I'm not like that! I'm better than that!
Don't we all think this way?
Life is a tease. Perhaps, anything dramatic has to be disproportionate, dis-balanced, disfigured. Even with nature too often I feel offensive. Most of the time -- it's unattractive. I have to search for a spot for a landscape, I have to reject so much for something with beauty in it. And there is so little harmony in nature, what could I expect from the second nature? And I live on promises of this moment...
Don't tell me that at any point humanity will have a face I can't take my eyes off. A face, one out of millions -- possible. but what a price! The millions. So much waste for something worth remembering. You go through the dirt, year after year -- so messy, twisted, unsightly. The future will bring more of that. Somebody has to warn a young soul that the courage is first quality to gain, if one wants to stand the life.
There is a monk in me. My mind can't respect life, it's too primitive, too childish in its desires. I understand, but an understanding can do with the heart which resists the picture. No, I say, no. Life is a tool for me; my impressions of life are more important than life. I do not value so many life's values. Life and I co-exist. Keep the distance from the monster, keep your eye on it.
I have some sympathy, kind of pity, for it. The struggle, needs, row energy. But how ugly is a newborn! The insides exposed. The last profession I would wish for myself -- being a doctor. Flesh! Love it? I can't. I have to lose my mind first. And we made this un-natural "feeling" into a definition of humanity! If they truly feel this "love," there must be nothing in them what I have.
I don't worship death, there is too much of life in it. I don't reject it either. Death makes sense. Death has to be protected from life. I like the truth of death, it's simplicity. Death has this clarity which life never could even dream about. I can respect it. I trust it.
There are too many of you protecting life, somebody has to defend death. In all-human-power-world everything is on the life's side. Against death? Poor evil, it needs advocates.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Not that simple. Life can't leave its guardian -- death is a soul of life. Actually, death needs no defenders. It's me, who needs an understanding of the value of death. I always remember that death is ahead, it's my last refuge. And something of a "hope." Something I can count on.
Life is too busy, too noisy. Life is very bodily. Death is not.
The Postmodern likes to talk about "disappearance" of the real. The sense of disappearance of real (life) is a result of our war against death. I don't mind the disappearance of the stupid reality.But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
Knowledge of good and evil, "knowledge" is a knowledge of death, wisdom? Meaning of life, my own life -- those thoughts are old. Let me eat and die. So I can live not exist. Knowledge of MY OWN LIFE? There's no such tree to go to.
Life is a violence, not death.
Live! By any means, at any cost! What's why they kill. What does separate them from the insects, animals, plants? Only death wish makes us humans.
I don't hate life, only dead life.
Black and white.
Why do they paint death in dark colors?
Darkness? I see too much darkness in life, in our human world eliminated by millions lights. It's darker than darkness itself.JOB 10:21 Before I go whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death;
JOB 10:22 A land of darkness, as darkness itself; and of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness.
My final revolt is against "power" of life with its orders. Notes from Underground, from the heart of a mortal man (remembering his mortality). New World Order? Orders?
Wish: "One dieth in his full strength, being wholly at ease and quiet."
I pray for such a death.
What did I do?
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
Number of days? What is the result of the act of facing life? We number hours and minutes. Seconds...ECC 2:17 Therefore I hated life; because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me: for all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
ECC 4:2 Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive.
ECC 9:3 This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there is one event unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead.
Being blind, see no evil -- see nothing.
"But he, whom God raised again, saw no corruption." Thanks to death? Everything became good, even evil looked good.
For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead.
What if only the second is right? Is it just?
What do I fear?
Do I fear death? Can I answer it?
"And deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage."
What -- funeral? It has nothing to do with me. The pain? Death is the end of pain. Impossibility to return? To change it back? Unfinished business? Wasted (life) time? Why don't I feel so strong about not living before my birth? Lack of understanding? The unknown? But how much do I understand of life? Death is always present -- why the final stage is more dramatic? Because of the others. (I don't understand it).
"Fear" of death is liberating. There is more truth in fear than in many of my "emotions." It's strong, it has a subject. It's personal. Fear of God is real.
I only can measure myself next to others. Slaves of life -- I know them. But what help this comparison give me in answering this question?
Very little is said about death. Because is free and ready available? Death is a true gift.
Is the animal (low life) in me speaking about death? I'm speaking on the behalf on life, not myself.
It's all about to change in the next millennium.
"Right to die":
And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.
Death became a part of (civil) freedoms. My individual right. "To be or not ot be" -- matter of our social concern.
A suicide is still considered as madness.
Killing yourself is still a mortal (moral) sin.
"Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or noNATURE'S ANSWER
No question was asked me--it could not be so!
If the life was the question, a thing sent to try
And to live on be YES; what can NO be? to die.
Is't returned, as 'twas sent? Is't no worse for the wear?
Think first, what you ARE! Call to mind what you WERE!I gave you innocence, I gave you hope, Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope, Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair? Make out the invent'ry ; inspect, compare! Then die--if die you dare!"I did. Only after resurrection I can be dismissed forever.
NON-EXISTENCEBlessed and holy are those who have part in the first resurrection, The second death has no power over them, but they will be priests of God and of Christ and will reign with him for a thousand years. Rev. 20:6
This thought about the second, final death, end of a soul, with me for over twenty years. That's how I saw my life -- a trail of a resurrected soul to end up in the lake of fire with no afterlife. Atheists proved to be the strongest believers of Christianity. There is nothing beyond. Whose soul was I? Did it really matter? So many nameless souls were processed by the resurrection factory. Here was another one -- Anatoly. What was in my name? Nothing. But at least it was my first name, my last name wasn't even my property. It belonged to them and since my first grade I feared my last name.
Silly boy, what life did he expect? With a red tie around his neck, with the Red stars of Devil about the Russian medieval castle with the name Kremlin (the strongest stone). The hell had all the attributes of life and heaven, but the puzzle of my Soviet life had no solution -- there were no picture no matter how you would try to put the parts together. You can try it for a thousand years and all the wonderful bits and pieces can ever fit each other.
Four of all had one room and I slept in my grandmother room; I was too old to see my parents being in one bed. It was a small folding sofa with my grandma icons above. She wasn't a religious fanatic and my father wasn't glorious communist. I was secretly baptized, if God is out there, it wouldn't hurt the boy -- was the rational. Every night my heavy grandma would claim on the chair to lit the night oil -- and the face of Christ would stair at me in the dark. The radio was on all the time with the same glorious Soviet news and marching bands. At midnight the whole country would go deaf -- there is a working day a few hours away. I always liked to stay awake at night. Dark, quiet, they sleep and can't bother me anymore. The Christ face was serious with big never blinking eyes, dark, Jewish. What was he thinking looking at me for hours?
In the closet she kept the old Slavonic bible which nobody could read. But it was real book, big, heavy, with leather cover. I read bible only when I was twenty. It didn't help me much. It was again about religion. All I remember that I was taught what to believe in. Never think. This was something I had to do on my own. This second death thought rooted in my mind only because not many books wanted to discuss it. I didn't have to relearn it as I did with everything else I was taught to know. With too many things I have to fight to take them out of my mind, strip off the meaning attached and try to discover the true meaning.
Resurrection was that strange Easter with boiled eggs and kissing each other. I had to wait some time to see the Easter bonny to appreciate the Orthodox rituals. Resurrection for a boy in a special math school was a ridiculous idea. There were more wonder in physics than any religious miracle could offer. For a change the language of science was free from telling what to think. To this day I miss the monstrous views of a formula in my writings. Formulas are ugly because they are simple and descriptive. There are short, even the longest ones. Just signs. Too primitive to talk about my feelings.
Death was easy to understand. On our way from the store my grandfather died holding my hand. The oil spilt all the street and his hand was hard as a wood. When I kissed his forehead, cold as church wax, I knew that he was dead. They closed the casket, brought it to the cemetery, cover the grave with a wet ground -- that was it. The end. Everything else -- prayers, leaving a glass of vodka and food at the bottom of the cross -- meant nothing. He was gone. Perhaps, only grandma in her night prayers for the dead might hope to see him again after her death. For me death was a final act.
For me there was more mystery in birth. From where? And the long laborious evolution of growing! I wanted to write a book about Jesus as a child, about his years before teaching. I thought that if I would understand the begining I could understand it all. We are taking birth for granted because there is very little of our input in it. We don't understand that there and when everything takes place, everything that about to become me. When I look at my childhood photo I understand that I know this boy no more than he knows me. I have to force myself to link two us together. It's only memory (not even my memory) which connects me with him.
I remember some of my many deaths.
"The Second Death" (in Russian) came out of those lines:And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works.
And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works.
And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death. REV 20:12-14
Twenty years later I'm still there, struggling with one idea -- resurrection. I see not a fulfillment of biblical prophecies in our postmodern "life"; important that we are driven by the wish to live forever, to escape the death. This primitive life's force equipped with technology (what a concentration of energy!) will make it happen. All books are open.
This consistency, perseverance of the idea (need, wish) produced this new world which grows every hour colonizing the first nature, swallowing it, conquering, transfiguring. The powers which run this little spot in the middle of frozen life -- Fairbanks, AK -- how could I daught the reality of resurrection. And it's only a begining. That's why this is the end.
I'm not full of joy as futurists were at sight of an automobile. I do not fear the future. Although, I don't like it much. (I'm limited to my present.)And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
No tears, nor sorrow, no pain? I don't want such "life"?
"The former things are passed away" -- I miss them, the things. Now I have only images of the things.
Do you think it's difficult to understand why do we die? (Trying to understand what does it mean that I didn't live in 19th century). There's no mystery in death. In life -- yes! Death is mercy, death is tender.
Death is my liberator. Imagine what you would be without it -- no escape! Hell where pain is forever.
Death is only one of many ways to escape their company. I innebted many walls (including Internet) to keep a safe distance from people. I like a car idea; better than a bus. Private home -- better than army barracks. Do I have problems with life? Not at all, as long as I can keep the distance from it. I enjoy my children, but only because they don't dictate me way of living. Yes, we interact, the way man and woman do, without losing their original boundaries. Our interaction establishes our differences.
The Nietzsche's Return would an ultimate punishment...
Does it insult you? Yes, it does. You have to take it, the way I accepted you of being my relatives. Nothing could be done. Gravity is a law. Sorry.
"For nothing is either good or bad, but thinking makes it so," said one young man.
Children do not like to talk about death. They don't "believe" in it. They have to. Child in me knows it. I know this child.
Also, _SPEED OF DEATH_ and Notes on Virilio.
Next: titleEmbrace it, accept it! And we did. We became the cosmic power in our ability to destroy ourselves and life. We fear nature no more, we fear ourselves. That's the way learn how to be better, how to be humans. What is left? To learn how to the universe? Aha, this is the task, this is our final step to creation of God! We are not there yet, we are not ready. Our angels and demons are not strong enough to overpower the stars....
We are working on it, on our desire to kill, which is simply the night of desire to love....
@1999-2003 notes * ©2004 filmplus.org *
* home * about * guide * classes * advertise * faq * contact * news * forums * mailing list * bookstore * ebooks * search * calendar * games * polls * submit your link * web *
I bet you still do not understand why I am putting the nudes on my pages. You still didn't learn that woman is the death of man... That is how Son gives birth to Father. She does it! And we wish it, we crave for it! Don't you get it?
I don't know what elese I can say. This is the so-called myastery of life and love. Well, I guess, this is because we can't get over the fact that the Holy Ghost is female...
Yes, you will know about it later, we only entered the Age of Woman in 2001...
Dec. 21, 2002, Denver
@2009 -- 2005-2006 Theatre UAF Season: Four Farces + One Funeral & Godot'06
©Film-North * Anatoly.
home: appendix * links * list * biblio * references * winter fool * books * biblio * NEW * 2008 : noocracy.tumblr.com group *