Imagine that wonder, year thirteen!
Nobody ever does anything for that long ; the things people flatter themselves with having so done generally do themselves while also not too loudly protesting the supposed doer's spuriousness. Trilema doesn't write itself, though, let me assure you, not anymore than the eager girlfriendi fucks herself : very eagerly under my hand, and otherwise not at all.
So what's it like, and what does one do on top of such mountain as never before seenii ?
Well... I sit here, writing this, on the pinnacle of
distructioniii distraction. It's funny, in my mother's tongueiv distraction's how you say amusement ; and I'm nothing if not well & thoroughly amused in that senseless manner. Amusement through distractionv, what more could be hoped for.
I'm low-key playing a computer game in the background. The 174-strong base, well equipped with (locally manufactured) focused laser rifles and hardy endurance garbs, mostly takes care of itself. Like everything else I do. I'm welcome to deign to check in, of course ; and I do, now and again, whenever and as often as I like. Click on a loot, or they'll organize a hunt for my amusement... epoca de aur, in a word. There's some reports I've not yet bothered to read, some discussions open, pending, that I'm going to in a moment resume, besides the girls will wake soon and we'll be going to I don't recall what, there's workers waiting to assemble some furniture on the property, things. Matters.
Supposedly human life comes in cycles of seven ; a thirteenth year implies three such, unless there's remarkable alignment of thresholds, things divers magically beginning at the same time. What was I doing, twenty-six years ago ? Starting life, I suppose, it could be said, it could be put that way. What, in another twenty-six ? Will I be penning the substance of Trilema's soon-to-be fortieth year, then ? Will I, hunch-back and bodily diminutive, ancient hat and ancient writing implement in hand, continue inexplicably, incomprehensibly, some god forsaken activity meanwhile meaningless to the thick fat grubs pullulating all about as all that's... left ?
It's lonely at the top ; but in a sense of loneliness bereft of all companionship. It's lonely like it's sweet, people never perceive their loneliness in joy, though misery's always shared while happiness can never be ; people think themselves lonely when they perceive their own fear that they might be (spurred, in fact, by just how they very much aren't, for they could never be, there's no loneliness at the bottom, not ever, not even as a possibility) ; and don't think themselves anything in those scant moments when it doesn't somehow, inexplicably, evanescently an' briefly suck for them. Too much, too bright, it overwhelms their minimal receptors and there they sit, prostrate, amused, distracted ; yet joy's the only loneliness there is, though not for everyone.
The numbers, confirmed from whatever count of independent public sources you prefer (though in any case a higher count than what makes "news"), show that Trilema's the most widely read thing yet. Slightly less people read it in December past, in the sense of slightly under seventy million, as compared to November's slightly over seventy million. This, aside from being the widest audience any Romanian who's ever lived ever reachedvi, might very well be the widest any one person's ever been read. Look through the actual specifics of the claims of your favourite worthies, what headcount at Woodstock, all told ? What audience the glory days of ABC/CBS/NBC/etc ? How many copies of Harry Pottervii ?
But that's not even it : this thing, by far -- by so overwhelmingly very far it gave everyone else "involved" "in the market" dry hives -- the biggest blog in Romanian back when I wrote in Romanian, now by very far the biggest thing in English, now that I write in English... you see the pattern there, does it give you hives ?
Though all are born to endless night yet some are born to sweet delight ; of those some I know of exactly one, and of his intimately familiar experience I can share in all certainty this fundamental tidbit : that overwhelming one's alleged "own kind" is in fact alienating, but to them. To the chosen it is realising ; the alienation, while certainly present, entirely rests with everyone else : his self-realisation towards their "common" potential alienates them from their hopes and dreams expressed in their common language. For his being great they're less people than they thought themselves, his existence throws the curve like very heavy celestial bodies bend the timespace around and about them.
tl;dr I'm enjoying myself, si la multi ani.———
- This isn't to imply I've girlfriends now, ridiculum ridiculorum, but merely to acquiesce that you do. After all, there's nothing really wrong with that ; not anymore than there's anything wrong with anything else, anyways. [↩]
- Name the blog this old ? And make sure it is a blog, and not the mechanically deboned chicken goop called "blog" for no reason anyone can conceive, commercial communication repackaging itself as whatever it appears momentarily most likely to get it through under the door. [↩]
- Hey, remember back when "banana republic" was coined, to distinguish countries such as where I live from "the country", where you live ? Well... Not anymore, huh.
The libertard press is quoting Banya now, and as some sort of repository & font of ancient wisdoms to boot. Imagine that fall if you can. I can't, which is the greatest advantage to living a long time : it's the most powerful aid to the imagination imaginable.
- This isn't to imply we've spoken recently. We haven't ; nor do I expect to, ever again. For my own needs I explain the matter in the terms of, she's romanian, practically ; whereas I'm Romanian, and only very theoretically. I don't expend that much time (or for that matter any effort) towards it ; whereas the actual nitty gritty of daily being romanian's the sort of endless if pointless cvasi-activity that eats up their whole day. It ain't easy, being nobody's nothing and nothing to nobody. It takes a lot of doing, this being the schmuck of all things and all times. [↩]
- Ever notice the amazement link there, by the way ? Perhaps you too suppose the best thing's being my pet duck on the ocean shore one day, as a state of being. The most amusement to be had at the pinnacle of amazement, is that it ? [↩]
- Think ye of this : no one of your country, now or at any point in the past, a lengthy sort of past they'd insistently remind you throughout basic schooling stretches out two millennia! None of them can compare with you. None of them are as good as you at some activity you picked for reasons unclear, perhaps spured by disdain, perhaps of boredom, perhaps why not... [↩]
- Seventy million a month for what, seven months ? Aww.