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Love is not love.

Love is not sex,

nor calm,

nor temporary,

nor dependent,

it can’t be resumed;

love is sex

love is calm,

is temporary,

is dependent,

it can be resumed.

I don’t love,

I etern’u.

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She was walking in a large, noisy street. The smoke, the cars, the signs overwhelmed her. In a turn, she decided she couldn’t take it no longer, and she walked back to her apartment. The confusion from the outside had been transferred to the inside. Shakespeare, Fowles, Flaubert, Barnes and Freud occupied her sofa. Dirty dishes had taken over her kitchen. Even the floor had been conquered by clothes. She couldn’t go back outside or stay inside. The phone rang. Just on the last ring she picked it up. The steady and familiar voice on the other side spoke some ordinary words. The house seemed cozy during those minutes. They hang up. She couldn’t run away, her confusion was right in front of her eyes. The phone rang again. This time it was a sharp and savvy voice she could always reproduce in her head. He just wanted to know how she was doing. He didn’t want to let go. They hang up. She called him back. She told him how she felt like Madame Bovary, and Anne, and Edna and Miranda. How she couldn’t stay or leave. How everything was out of place. As they talked, she washed the dishes, put her clothes up, brought the books down. They hang up. The first voice was on the door. She met him, they kissed. The house was clean. She was home again.

– why do you like reading all these novels?

– they are interesting, they make me think about all sorts of things and be able to see new layers of everything I experience.

– but they’re lies!

– well, yes, I can’t disagree with that, but I don’t see a problem with that either.

– reading real things, facts, gives you a much better picture of “everything you experience”. I don’t understand how someone would rather read lies instead of reality.

– hum…texts are always biased, even when they are strictly describing a fact. But hum, don’t you like jokes?

– yes, but that’s different…

– in what ways?

– it’s for entertainment

– novels can’t be entertaining?

– they’re not funny, you were just telling me how you feel disgusted that you are inside the mind of a guy who kidnapped a girl… I don’t understand how you can feel all those things if you know they’re not true.

– because while you are reading it, it is your reality, your truth.

– but you know it’s fake, it’s a lie

– you did believe in Santa, right?

– yes

– it’s the same thing

– no, it’s not, because you don’t know it is a lie

– but now that you do, you still want to tell your children Santa exists

– yes

– why?

– because it is fun, it’s a pleasant and harmless activity in family

– so it’s a good lie

– you’re getting away from the point, why do you like to deliberately read lies? how or why does it add to your life? I know you can like anything you want to. I still don’t understand how you can feel all these things knowing they are lies.

– ok, so you said you can understand children because they don’t know Santa doesn’t exist. when you open a book, you are a child, you believe Santa exists. Santa is the story, your parents are the author , the presents are the feelings/thoughts you get from reading.

– that doesn’t make sense, why would someone write, considering your theory, if he can’t see you are having fun with his presents?

– I hope that fundamentally parents buy presents for the sake of giving a present, for the family moment, the interaction, the sharing. I would risk say that’s the greatest pleasure in writing: sharing. I think it’s kind of implicit that the person who opens the book will believe in the story and take something out of it, sort of a pact between author and reader. and, anyway, much more concrete are the critics; almost an incarnation of this pact…

– alright, but I still don’t want to read the book

– ok, I didn’t ask you to

– but if you want to tell me the story you can

– I will

Relationships are about establishing and abolishing boundaries between you, yourself, the world, the universe and, consequently, whoever you are relating with.

What it would be like if we didn’t have categories?

Have you ever tried to go through a whole day without using classifications of any kind?

You wake up and want sugar for your coffee. You are already sitting on the table, so you ask your roommate who is standing to hand you the sugar. He asks which one. The white one in the blue box. 

Of course these are functional labels without which communication would be impossible. You’d have to just go and grab the sugar yourself. Not to mention that to be radical about it would mean to not name anything.

When it comes to categorizing people it all becomes a big deal. Saying you prefer refined sugar over raw is ok, but that you prefer this refined woman over the other… Not so much.

While sugar is treated as a matter of preference, the people you hang out with are not.

Of course people supposedly have feelings and sugar supposedly does not, but is it all that makes us try to be politically correct?

It might be just a defense mechanism; you don’t know the other person so you try not to offend to avoid trouble. 

Perhaps it is a matter of ego. You don’t say what you think because you don’t want to hear what’s on the other person’s mind.

Language was made for convenience (complex and primitive convenience, I should say), and maybe that’s all we do, we say of people what we find convenient.  Convenient for what? Relationships ? You? Them? I would say nothing and nobody.

Because we can’t define ourselves we don’t want others to realize before we do who we are, so instead of looking at life as a tweaked set of happenings that makes everything possible, we are attached to a linear logic that imprison us to a poorly classified reality.

You can say polysaccharide, glucose, sugar, white/brown thing; it will still have the same arrangement of atoms and sweeten your coffee.

If I hear someone call me Aná, Âna, Ena, Hannah, it strangely changes my mind set. It probably changes the chemicals inside my brain, but simply because I’ve learned to associate the way people call me with what they want from me.

The problem with this kind of association is that it leaves behind a trail of feelings and instincts that we ignore just because it is not very reasonable – or else, scientific.

We need to learn to be sugar, and assume our sugar identity. Then we’ll go beyond.

Anachronic

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