August begins in a Moscow appartment, overlooking the city from the 17th floor. I travel outside of the city today, and feel like Pushkin traveling to the estates of his father and mother. My original plan was to visit Vladimir, but it is too late for that. So instead I buy a ticket to a town closer to Moscow where I will visit a couchsurfer and have a nice time picking raspberries, talking about traveling in southeast Asia, and watching Woody Allen’s “Vicky Christina Barcelona”. Such enticing music!
It seems that there are two extremes: the extreme self-confident individual who is easily angry and shouts at people, who thinks he knows exactly what he wants and has every similarity with a tank when he moves towards it, who doesn’t want to get anything in his way because he is so fond of knowing a way. Or the tame, kind, following person, who is uncertain what he is doing here and needs constant confirmation from others, who hopes to discover a way by letting himself taken by every wind like a weightless down feather. Once this is discovered, and “verarbeitet” (give the shrinks a job too), then there might be some Hegelian way to transcend thesis and antithesis into a superb saintlike kind of being with the voice of the universe.