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2008 : I am not making "2008" page in this directory, but a note, instead of updates.
The End of History comes with the End of Democracy. Socialism is here. Cultural perspective -- communism is ahead. "Politicaly" we have no alternatives. filmplus.org/politics/2008 diary.vtheatre.net/2008
"Communism with human face" -- I do not like this face, I do not see human eyes. ... tech.vtheatre.net -- Russian version?
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2009 - 2010 :
You see, in the past they wrote books because people read them. Some people did. "Writer" today is no less strange position to be than a king or prophet. If you read what I wrote it is an accident...
See Virilio on theory of accident (sorry, Aristotle).
PS. I dumped the Diary'95 (1997) on this page. Why? I'll tell you later. (Read Father-Russia)
Two main things are difficult to find: the voice and the address.
Woman's voice? It's her inner monologue, the way she feels. The address? The child in her, even before the birth, before the conception!
I don't know the day or the hour of my death. I wish I could describe it in full details as writers do. You know, the weather and the thoughts before the end. I am embarrassed to say that I didn't notice it, my death. As you see from the diary I discovered that I am dead later, two years after my death. I understand why such an event had no significant reaction. You see, usually we know what takes place because of the others. They arrange the funeral, not the deceased. Since nobody knew that I died, I myself paid no attention to my death. I don't blame them -- how would they know? -- my heart didn't stop. I kept moving, even driving. According to the logic of the corporeal, I was fine. No wonder that they are surprised when somebody dies. They see that he stopped moving -- ah, he must be dead! (TECH: Theology of Technology)
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Theology of Technology -- no kidding.Basically, notes on notes, since nothing I write goes beyond notes.
You get to this page any time you click on "notes" at the end of each chapter. I expect this page will be long...
But for now use Glossary Page I'm making for WEB & Virtual Theatre; the new terminology is out there.
... If you are familiar with my writing on resurrection, the texts on technology will make even less sense. There is an unfortunate event took place in human history, many books weren't written in English. The Russians had this strange tendency to write in Russian -- Fedorov was one of them. Maybe it's not bad after all, he was a bad writer. Although, his Common Task idea is good. Without using PC he understood that what we call "technology" is the apparatus of resurrection, i.e. common effort to gain immortaly. Of course, it could be done only together, that's something that communists got right.
In short, the technology is DIVINE.
It should be... it will be...
If we can stop looking back and see the next millenium, we would realise that our recent techno-miracles are only the beginning. If only we could believe in our own desires...
It's okay, we don't have to believe in anything -- we will get there anyway.
1995
[Repeat] This is the last chapter, the end of the Big Book. Something happened in the Fall of the 1995, my fifteen anniversary of the discovery of America. In fact, I just returned from Africa, and I knew -- something has changed. What? What was it? Like a detector I went after the evidence. I opened my writings of the 1995 -- nothing, the usual stuff. I took many days to crack this case. The murder.How the Webman's Diary is incorporated into the TECH?From my diaries, 11.5.97:
Could I consider my physical travels to be over, since I'll have no time for anything but writing? Maybe I better see 1995 as the end of my mortal life. What does stop me from "sentencing myself to death"? An animal and a human in me ask for an extension, they can't accept it, but I know that I have to die to write the Book. Taking literally, this thought is new to me. It's not less dramatic than my decision to leave Russia, I remember many years I lived with that thought (I still do). If this a fact (my death), I have a better view of my own life. Also, I need all the time I can have to complete the writing. Actually, I should see the date as the Fall of 1995, when I came back from Ethiopia. Two years ago. What do I do since then? I write. I should know even the week when it took place -- Aleosha was in the hospital with meningitis. He lived through death and I know that then I knew -- our travels are over. I was forty six, an old age by the last century standards. Enough years to live and learn about living. I should stop my narrative right there.
Well, my begining has no sharp borders either. I don't remember my birth, my childhood memories are vague, not till I was four or five. Even the forty years are enough, a lot of space and time. What were the ten years of my Russian writer existence which had not produce anything to read? There was too much living, even between 1975 and 1980 -- the writing for myself, which made me leave Russia. I must take a second look at the seven ages of man (Shakespeare). Why did it take so long? (I asked many times in my diaries). Because nobody told me who I am? Because I didn't believe them? Because I had to educate myself? To discover myself? Because it's the fate for the ones after me. Single. Equal. Alone. That's why our life span had to be prolonged.
The new maturity is the self-discovery, self-establishment, self-realization.... self-esteem, as they put it. Maturity is the time to do -- to take on yourself as a business. Why is it so important? Didn't we hear about the end of man? A man in me must die before I can be born. But why is it needed? Well, that's what Resurrection is supposed to be -- the return of a soul.
How typical is my life? Every time I hear that my life-story is unique I want to tell that my life is only an exaggeration of Everyman's life. I was born a Soviet and ended up living as an American -- what about being a boy and becoming a man? Isn't this transition even more dramatic? I would like to tell about the normal behind the exotics of my biography (That's why I don't consider it as a biography). Being Dead should help me to go beyond my "personal" story without losing myself.
The topical (philosophical writing) and the personal have not meet yet. That's a matter of re-writes. (I tried this genre in my Russian writing -- what was missing? The personal? The close, super-close observations when the macro and micro are the same.)
So, 1955 -- 1995? The "--" is the Book.I don't know the day or the hour of my death. I wish I could describe it in full details as writers do. You know, the weather and the thoughts before the end. I am embarrassed to say that I didn't notice it, my death. As you see from the diary I discovered that I am dead later, two years after my death. I understand why such an event had no significant reaction. You see, usually we know what takes place because of the others. They arrange the funeral, not the deceased. Since nobody knew that I died, I myself paid no attention to my death. I don't blame them -- how would they know? -- my heart didn't stop. I kept moving, even driving. According to the logic of the corporeal, I was fine. No wonder that they are surprised when somebody dies. They see that he stopped moving -- ah, he must be dead!
WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love!--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.[1]I envy them, the mortals. They were poets. They were young. They would live ten, twenty years of a mature life, would write a few great books and -- farewell! Their mortal maturity was full and definite as their deaths. They need short lives to express their appreciation for being. I remember myself at the age of twenty five, I knew that I don't need a long life. But I haven't write a single great book, so I had to go with living. And the reason why I didn't write anything great, because I didn't know the difference between them and myself. I had to live longer, to experience and to learn.
The poetry is dead. There are some who write poetry. I did it myself too. It's our private business. But the Poetry is no more. I knew that the poets have died. I lived next to Pasternak. I had many friends who wrote poetry, but they weren't poets. I was a member of the Writers Guild and they, thousands, thought that they are writers. But a dead can't write. They, the dead, have to die first before they can even think about being writers. Of course, nobody thought that they are dead and they went on writing as if they were alive. They still pretend that they are humans. If they were poets, they would know the truth.
11.14. After the death. The invisible man. Feelings of Christ. Not the world but me presence in this world is puzzling. Even as a teen I had to remind myself that I am a part of it; people see me, talk to me.... I would accept the world easily if I wouldn't be there. Invisible? Am I needed? How easy I can be excluded. The life will roll on.... that much for the death of God. That's the reason to feel the extreme sense of significance and even the mission. Why the existential self-construct isn't enough? What are the limits of the self-invention? Humanism. Like others, very democratic. But about the difference? How different? And what did them mean by the "differance"? Being unique is a complete unlikeness to the others. I am not one of them. "In image and likeness" now applies to the social engineering. Being self is becoming invisible. The child is alone, it take time to discover it. Is this a foundation (in image and likeness) for godhood? Alone. One and only. And I, mortal and physical, I am a prophet of myself. There is a difference between Jesus and Christ. It took that long for Adam to understand the taste of the fruit from the tree of life and death. Is it time now to eat from the second tree -- the tree of knowledge? Only after we fully experienced the mortality of life. To die is not enough; it's only a fact. "To be or not to be" must be re-written as "To be and not to be"! Hamlet was young, he needed another four centuries to understand neither/nor. He was born again in Denmark under a different name. The very question our prince asked is rooted in the phrase "To be is not to be" -- the paradox of the postmodern, when the whole world fell for the complete humanization (in our image and likeness). The full circle -- the great return, back to the Creator. Almost six billions (is it Nietzsche's return?).
Each death is a murder case. "Natural causes"? Not anymore. In our world it's always a mistake or a crime. We think that I am the cause of my own death. If I take care of myself, I can live longer. Longer than Tolstoy, the lucky one. But in our case this business of living becomes the goal. Of course, I have no time for anything else. I slave to support myself and the slaves do not write great books. In actuality, I am dead and keep myself from physical dying. That's all what I do through my entire so-called "life."
I am glad that I have died. I wish I would do it earlier, but when you are dead it's not easy to die.
To frame each chapter with the diary pages? At least. Maybe even to break it into smaller pieces...
Next: Self, Diary
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