Corneliu Şerban

Van Gogh : Stars from Arles

SUNT NOPŢI CARE TE FAC SĂ ÎNŢELEGI

Sunt nopţi de dragoste 

care te fac să înţelegi,

să înţelegi, să ştii,

că stelele nu-s decît

biete fiinţe în singurătate,

că fiecare om

e-o necuprinsă galaxie

şi că toate problemele universului

sunt simple, simple, simple,

de fapt.


THERE ARE NIGHTS THAT MAKE YOU UNDERSTAND

There are love nights
that make you understand,
understand, know,
that the stars are but
poor creatures in loneliness,
that every human people
is a boundless galaxy
and that all the problems of the universe
are simple, simple, simple,
actually.

These people are awfully quiet.

My blog post entitled "Why You Should Not Get a Tattoo" is in Google's top ten hits. About three hundred people a day read this post, or at least look at it. There is one comment under that post, and that was left in 2008, by someone I know. 

I just re-read it, and the truth is, though I wrote it partially in jest, it contains some good advice. 

I do wonder why no one ever leaves a comment. 

Image note: Not a tattoo, but it would be clever (and not recommended).

Recently I noted that a number of tattooed people have posted comments on Facebook criticizing plastic surgery because the people who had it done weren't happy with themselves as they were "naturally." Tattooing and plastic surgery aren't so different. If people simply wanted to "wear art," they'd don interesting clothes and hang pictures from their necks. People want to change the way they look in drastic, permanent ways, and though not many think of tattoos as doing that, that is indeed what they do. 

When I first started tattooing, I met a tattoo artist who had inked his left calf entirely black. A year later, the person he had apprenticed with had done the same thing to his left forearm. They both had the same goal, which was simply to see how evenly they could do black work with a four flat needle. I have always wanted to do an entire "body part" one color, but I never had any takers. 

Thirteen drafts later. . .

. . .you get this:

I spent the afternoon knitting while listening to various people discussing personal growth. Personal growth  seems like a silly term to me. I think, "How can there not be personal growth? Is there impersonal growth?"

Okay. I'm being silly. Of course there are plenty of people who don't want to "grow." People will, in fact, do a helluva lot to not grow. They will kick and scream and kill instead of changing or challenging themselves. Besides, the very concept of "personal growth" seems absurd these days. Everything is a disease. You have a disease? Well, then. There's a pill for that, and if there isn't, it's incurable.

I felt motivated to cut through my hazy thinking because I felt angry. Listening to  this  trailer for the documentary film "Healing Homes" made me want to cry. The cure for psychosis? Love.

That's right. Love. No pills. No therapy. Just love.

Instead of crying, I got angry. I thought about when I met my new G.P. recently, and she asked me why I wasn't seeing a psychiatrist. I told her I've been tapering off the medication I've been on, very slowly, and had no interest in seeing a psychiatrist, for prescribing medication is the only thing that they do. She was concerned. "Have you ever been diagnosed with schizophrenia?" I wonder what would have happened if I had answered yes to that question. Would I have been forcibly put into a psychiatric hospital, even though I had no signs or symptoms of the "disease?" Perhaps. 

Even though I was off the hook, since this doctor is an osteopath, and I figure she's at least a little bit open minded, I felt obligated to stick up for people who are indeed schizophrenic. There is no evidence whatsoever that medication is helpful for psychosis in the long term. None. There is no evidence that schizophrenia is a brain disease, as most people believe, and as I once did. How is it that doctors, too, believe that it is a disease when there is no proof anywhere of any such thing? I did say something, and, of course, she looked at me as if I was crazy. I don't generally notice that kind of thing, as I've tried hard (yes, changed) to stop trying to discern what others are thinking about me. I can not read minds, but there's that certain look of incredulity, along with a raising of the eyebrows, an intake of breath. . .well. . .Suffice it to say, the doc has a Ph.D., and I do not, so what on earth was I thinking? I must be mad.

What about proof that programs that do not rely on medication have better outcomes? There's proof of that.

This is what makes me so angry. I generally do not use the word "evil," for it has connotations that I'm not sure I believe in, but I am damned sure that there are some things (and people) who are very, very bad. Treating people with kindness is not a money making endeavor, and as such, in this so-called society, it simply doesn't pay. So what do we do with the damning evidence that love and kindness (or a lack thereof) actually matters? We hide it.

Yes, this is a rant. 

Capitalism destroys everything it touches. Do you seriously think the profit motive can do anything positive for this world? We can congratulate ourselves for having a green company or a small carbon footprint, but at core, the whole system is rotten. These little fixes can make our consciences feel better, but they, perhaps, might make matters worse. A clean conscience has been proven to cause people to do people more harm than good.  Most of us know it. Those of us who know it well are, well, crazy. 

Of course the crazy people aren't going to be treated with love in America. Drugs aren't working? Electroconvulsive "therapy" for you! 

You think I'm kidding? Hey, it's on the rise for those who are "treatment resistant." That's pretty interesting considering the treatment has never been proven to work on any known illness. 

This is the stuff of science fiction dystopian novels.

Sadly, it is not a fiction. It may sound insane, but that makes sense, for it is.

Image note: I really like Jan van Eyck, but I do not believe in angels. This is a minority point of view in America. 55% of Americans do literally believe in angels. I guess it's only if you think they're out to get you, instead of benignly looking over your shoulder, that'll get you into trouble.

Marin Sorescu

CONTABILITATE

Vine o vreme

Cînd trebuie să tragem sub noi

O linie neagră

Şi să facem socoteala.

Cîteva momente cînd era să fim fericiţi,

Cîteva momente cînd era să fim frumoşi,

Cîteva momente cînd era să fim geniali.

Ne-am întîlnit de cîteva ori

Cu nişte munţi, cu nişte copaci, cu nişte ape

( Pe unde-or mai fi ? Mai trăiesc ? ).

Toate acestea fac un viitor luminos -

Pe care l-am trăit.

O femeie pe care am iubit-o

Şi cu aceeaşi femeie care nu ne-a iubit

Fac zero.

Un sfert din anii de studii

Fac mai multe miliarde de cuvinte furajere,

A căror înţelepciune am eliminat-o treptat.

Şi, în sfîrşit, o soartă

Şi cu încă o soartă ( de unde-o mai fi ieşit ? )

Fac două ( Scriem una şi ţinem una,

Poate, cine ştie, există şi viaţă de apoi ).


ACCOUNTING

There comes a time
When we have to draw under us
A black line
And count.


Some moments when we could have been happy,
Some moments when we could have been beautiful,
Some  moments when we could have been brilliant.
Some moments when we met 
Some mountains, some trees and some waters
( Where would they be ? Do they still live ? )
All these make  a bright future -
Which we already have lived.


A woman  we loved
Plus the same woman who didn't loved us
Means zero.


A quarter of our study years
Is several billions of fodder words
Whose wisdom we removed slowly.


And finally a fate
And another fate ( hence did it come out ? )
Are two ( we write one and keep one
Maybe, who knows, there is afterlife ).

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The Best Elegant Wedding Dress

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