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It takes years to say what you want to say. You feel it very often, but you just can’t say it. Sit down to write and it doesn’t show up. Talk to whoever and it just won’t come out, it evades and evades you. A part of finding it though is creating the conditions for its release: writing every day, developing habits, cultivating the feeling around this knot, or pulse, or desire. 

The mind left to itself is perverse, depraved. Mean, out of touch; if anyhing antagonistic, ready to tear down who- and whatever, on account of our fears and doubts and anxieties. The idle and desperate mind would trip up and kick an old woman, our grandma, for a moment’s awkwardness or annoyance. But we forget what it’s up to, and we fall for the trick, dupes of the contortions and concoctions of our mind. It smirks and it sneers; — sometimes this jackassery even reaches our face, and it’s ugly. Ugly because mean and unnecessary, cruel.

The mind is so powerful, and sometimes I think that most of us (and I include myself of course) just can’t match it, in force or strength, and that a lot of our problems and personal riddles or dilemmas are products of the mind in us that just needs more exercise than it gets, that this excess energy becomes neurosis, and we, as Emerson says, ‘miscreate our own evils’. 

Alienation plays a part too, screen time and isolation, of course of course. The news, social media, these things distort and confuse our sense of self and others, the world around us. 

Most of us, I’m willing to bet — (in fact, I’m sure) —, just want to get along with the people we see every day, meet at restaurants or coffee shops, sit next to or pass at work. We’d smile and say hello, know each other’s names. Throwing down our head, pretending that the other doesn’t exist, this embarrassment about existing, depresses and annoys, is humiliating and no good for self-esteem or respect.

But it’s a struggle, and most of the time it’s only in ourselves, a battle between our heart and our head, our sense of what’s good and our fear to do it, to listen to our better thoughts or instincts and follow through, to dare. 

There is pain. There is always pain. It is never perfect, the days, the efforts, the words, the actions. You fail. You win, but you fail just after that. Whatever it is, it’s a struggle. And you must smile. You must know yourself a man, imperfect, awkward, capable of more, of better, which you’ll see to in good time.

You must refuse, you must set yourself up against sadness, despair: resist it head on. Look it in the eyes and say no; without hate or fear, without hard feelings, deny it, and move on. 

It isn’t just. It is evasion. It flatters us, but not the part of us we want or admire. It flatters the mind, frustrated, tired, not the courageous heart. The heart (hope, faith) can only detest it. Cheerfulness is yours if you want it.

On n’aime pas les clichés. On aime les individus. 

On n’aime pas ce qui est prédictible. On aime les singularités. 

Ce qui est prédictible ne nous dit rien. C’est indifférent. 

On aime ce qui est naturel. On aime ce qui est profond. 

Me réduire, c’est m’insulter. 

Me réduire à mon passé, à mon métier, à ma famille, c’est m’insulter. 

On n’est pas son passé, ni son métier, ni sa famille. 

On n’est pas ses opinions, ce qu’on aime, ce qu’on n’aime pas.

On est sa façon d’être.

On est sa façon d’avoir ses propres opinions, sa façon d’aimer ce qu’on aime et de ne pas aimer ce qu’on n’aime pas. 

Il y a des personnes qui pensent comme je pense, qui ont les mêmes opinions, que je n’aime pas. 

Il y a des personnes qui ne pensent pas du tout comme moi, qui n’ont pas les mêmes opinions, que j’adore. 

On aime ce qui ne peut pas se dire, ce qui est derrière la personne, les mots. 

On est sa manière de vivre, sa manière de dire ce qu’on dit.

(On n’est pas ce qu’on fait, on n’est pas ce qu’on dit.)

On est sa manière de se taire, sa manière de regarder les autres dans les yeux (ce qui est derrière les yeux).

On est sa manière de souffrir, on est sa manière d’espérer.

On est sa manière de rater, sa manière d’essayer, de recommencer.

(On n’est pas ce qu’on rate, on n’est pas ce qu’on essaie.)

On est le comment.

Ou pour mieux dire, c’est son comment, celui de l’individu, qui se manifeste, mais qui ne peut pas se dire (ou, au moins, qui ne se dit que rarement et avec beaucoup de difficulté, surtout en poésie): cela se sent, et chaque individu a son essence (les groupes n’ont pas, les catégories sociales n’ont pas). 

You have to find wisdom where you are. 

To read moving quotes from authors and think of the circumstances in which these authors wrote and lived and, realizing how different your own are, conclude that they don’t apply to you, that you are somehow beneath these things, is misguided. 

You have to find wisdom where you are, 

you have to be wise in your own way, 

you have to think and judge and decide

right there where you are, 

not knowing what will come

but hoping for the best,

trusting the instinct, the feeling,

and going on. 

To know too

that it’s process,

that what you do and say

is imperfect and naturally so, 

humanly so,

that what’s more important

is our tendency,

the direction we tend to, 

the habits we aim and strive for,

how we risk and dare,

and not the result, 

because naturally small, 

single steps on the way, 

disappointing if stuck at, 

looked at with the hope of expectation, 

a great answer or big reveal, 

that we in our choices every day

create our life 

and determine our fate,

and the smallest and most private of these

carry the most weight,

belong to us most,

because unseen

and closest to the heart,

because small,

because even to us not clear,

a hint, a nudge, a brief light

that,

remembered and served,

cultivated

and responded to,

tend to grow

and, through the hours

and through the years,

through the silent work and pain

alone on the way, 

tend to become much more our own, 

a part felt and seen and

instinctively understood,

the soul we found 

and saved. 

Avoir du caractère,

c’est accepter sa propre apparence

et s’en faire une arme.

*

[Character is accepting

and making use of who you are.]

*

Only in the going on do we see

What it is we are.

Courage, is all,

And the courage to love

What we see and don’t see,

The courage to love life

And everything.

Two quotes from Alain.

*

Nous ne pensons que nos perceptions. 

[We only think our perceptions. — We only think what we perceive.]

*

J’ai souvent pensé que

la peur, 

qui est la passion nue,

et la plus pénible, 

n’est autre chose que

le sentiment 

d’une irrésolution,

si je puis dire,

musculaire.

On se sent

sommé d’agir

et incapable. 

[I’ve often thought that

fear,

which is pure passion,

and the most painful,

is nothing other than

the feeling

of irresolution,

if I can say,

in the body,

a muscular irresolution.

You feel called on to act

and incapable.]  

What a time to be alive.

What choices.

*

At one point today I imagined myself

—my deepest self, my soul, as you like—

inwardly descending en enfer,

—silently, privately, invisibly—,

as around me the whole show played out as usual.

I imagined it for a moment. 

‘The weather’s bad’, I said in myself some time later.

The internal weather I carry in me. 

Interior climate. 

The thoughts were bad,

and came and struck as they do. 

Flick—flick—knock—crack.

Tempt, would have you. 

At some points I thought: 

you’ve got to do something.

Go and do something that scares you,

go start a conversation,

approach someone and small talk,

something.

(Once today I did.

Certain good.

But the difficulties persist—

and I as I can,

I do too.) 

‘We must work and affirm,

but we have no guess

of the value

of what we say or do.’

[—Emerson, ‘Illusions’]

*

Life as it’s lived,

A dense tunnel, high wind—

A nod and a smile, 

A small question

Lived. 

I never know – we never know – what’s going to come and find us.

Trifles along the way. You have to joke, and fart, and trip. Forget what to say, mess up. 

(And then move on, indifferent, content, if possible.) 

Feeling well recently has put me on edge a little. I noticed it in the car, coming home. You start to – you catch yourself smiling, and there’s a catch, you feel: there must be a catch; impending grief.

(O poor wretch, come on.)

Anyway.

(A quote from Giorgio Gaber. — If you read French or Italian I highly recommend the bilingual book Gaber–Brel Dialogo by Micaela Bonavia. It is exceptional, and what Brel and Gaber say, and repeat, how they think and thought out their lives, how they lived and reflected on their lives: it does a lot of good to read and reflect with them, such voices are rare, because bold and honest and serious and nonconformist, recent artists whose aim was higher than conventional success, wealth and popularity, intellectual (in the good sense; the ideas lived by, applied—and refined and reapplied), artists concerned with what’s essential, what matters, not in terms of brief political and social fashions, or enthusiasms, but in terms of what lasts.)

*

E pensare 

che basterebbe pochissimo. 

Basterebbe spostare a stacco

la nostra angolazione visiva. 

Guardare le cose

come fosse la prima volta. 

Lasciare fuori campo

tutto il conformismo di cui

è permeata 

la nostra esistenza. 

Dubitare delle risposte 

già pronte.

Dubitare dei nostri 

pensieri fermi,

sicuri, 

inamovibili.

Dubitare delle nostre convinzioni 

presuntuose e saccenti.

Basterebbe smettere

di sentirsi sempre

delle brave persone. 

Smettere di sentirsi vittime

delle madri, 

dei padri,

dei figli. 

Smascherare,

smascherare tutto:

smascherare l’amore,

il riso,

il pianto,

il cuore,

il cervello. 

Smascherare la nostra

falsa coscienza individuale. 

Subito. 

Qui e ora.

*

[And to think

that it would take very little.

It would be enough

to change our point of view.

To look at things

as if it were the first time.

To leave out 

all the conformism

that impregnates

our existence.

To doubt 

ready responses.

To doubt 

our firm, 

secure, 

immovable

thoughts.

To doubt

our pretentious

and pedantic

conventions.

It would be enough

to stop thinking of ourselves always

as ‘good people’.

To stop thinking of ourselves

as victims

of mothers,

fathers,

children.

To unmask,

to unmask everything:

to unmask

love,

laughter, 

tears,

the heart,

the mind.

To unmask 

our false individual conscience.

Soon.

Here and now.]

A perfect government 

and a perfect society 

assume a perfect people. 

That is, 

a perfect government

and a perfect society 

would require 

a perfect people: 

a people without vices; 

a people of perfect virtue; 

that is, angels; 

not men and women 

who actually exist 

(or have existed, 

or will exist).

If the government was perfect, 

would we be happy? 

If every demand 

of every activist 

and concerned citizen 

was granted, 

fulfilled 

(and perfectly so), 

would we be happy?

Change the word ‘happy’

if you will: 

content, 

satisfied 

(with ourselves, 

with others,

how things are, 

our life, 

the world, 

etc.)

I’m reminded of a quote 

from Giorgo Gaber. 

(I’ve reminded myself here.) 

« Io mi appassiono alla realtà,

non ai rapporti di forza.

La politica è un mestiere preciso

che passa attraverso 

l’illusorio uso di parole 

e concetti volgarizzati 

perché deve trovare

più consensi possibili. 

Questo non è il mio gioco:

il mio gioco è la parola precisa, 

non il concetto ambiguo. »

[I’m passionate about reality,

not about systems of force.

Politics is a particular profession

which happens through

the illusive use of words

and simplified concepts

because it has to find

the most consenus possible.

That’s not my thing;

my thing is the exact word, 

not the ambiguous concept.]

I think also of a quote 

from Montagine, 

something I wrote down 

in my journal a while back:

« Nous empêtrons

nos pensées

avec les questions générales

es les causes universelles

et les façons

dont est conduit l’univers,

qui se conduit

très bien sans nous,

et nous laissons de côté

notre cas

et Michel [ou Gray, ou toi, ou qui que ce soit]

qui nous concerne 

encore de plus près

que l’homme en général. »

[We mix up

our thoughts

with general questions

and universal causes

and the ways

in which the world behaves, 

which carries on

very well without us,

and we leave to the side

our case

and Michel [or Gray, or you, or whoever it is],

which concern us

still much more

than mankind in general.]

I think the problem 

for most of us 

(the immense majority of us)

is that we are flooded 

(sure, we mostly allow it, 

and we usually want it, 

because desperate, 

because absolutely

hooked, 

addicted, 

and suffering) – 

is that we are flooded 

with ‘mankind in general’ 

(or ‘culture’, 

or ‘humanity’,

or ‘the world’, 

as you like):

the news, 

social media, 

streaming shows 

and movies, etc. 

Give yourself long enough 

to such abstract concepts 

(‘mankind in general’, 

‘millenials’,

‘Zoomers’, 

‘Americans’,

‘white people’, 

‘conservatives’,

‘liberals’,

whatever) 

and you start to believe 

that these ideas

exist. 

You can’t touch 

any of these;

they are what any individual 

thinks to call them, 

and that’s subject to change 

according to the hour, 

the mood, 

etc.

We don’t think

(or know)

the same things

in the morning

and in the evening,

or have the same opinions

(not really).

We are

all of us

process

(individually,

alone). 

(And because

of our choices,

every one.)

Not as ‘people’

(insert whatever

color

or race),

not as whatever

opinions

we pick up

and point at

(we’re not

what we like,

or do

or say).

The problem

is spiritual

(define ‘spritual’

as you like).

It is one of

feeling. 

If when you see your father

or aunt

or brother

or grandmother

and more than the

temporary guest

of this world

(like you,

like me

fragile,

uncertain,

brief),

you see 

an idea, 

or an opinion

(or a set

of opinions,

vague,

unwieldy),

you’re going to 

suffer

stupidly. 

Because no one

(not you,

not me)

is

their 

opinions

(how many times

have yours changed?

do you feel them

the same

as you did

last week?)

Anyway.