The Tree of mrcury

I wonder if fulfillment in life means finally reaching one’s highest ambitions or ending up being content of secondary achievements, when nothing better comes.

Sweet! I really didn’t think I could find a brand new copy of this anywhere in the nation. This is the brand new entry in my Halos collection. Still missing: Halo 01, Halo 02, Halo 03, Halo 04, Halo 09, Halo 11, Halo 12, Halo 13, Halo 15, Halo 17, Halo 20, Halo 21. What cracked me up is that they’ve written the BPM for each track on the CD. March Of The Pigs counts 269 BPM.

Sometimes I feel like I need to do non-work stuff when I’m on vacation. Isn’t it just like having to study/work? Like, “I must have fun. Seriously”. To me, that means often unproductive days on the computer. I think I can’t see alternative approaches towards doing stuff lately.

What I did tonight (and yesterday night) was setting up a makeshift solution for my photography galleries here on the site. I’ll probably have some sets available by the end of the week, at least for the more recent ones. I might need to get all the pictures I posted through the year, strip the borders, add them back in CSS, reupload everything and sort the sets on an index page. Whatever.

I was happy today though, had a great time. Only towards the end I had that usual sluggish feeling creeping in a little, but that’s just me. Got to post a Flickr set of the day, maybe tomorrow.

An operation I usually do when I travel by train is checking the contents of my wallet. This happens when the wallet is getting too big to fit my back pocket comfortably, and when I need a mind-chilling activity. Almost all of the wallet-swelling items are old receipts, ranging from bar receipts to the ones from bookshops, record stores, restaurants, you name it. There are also many train tickets, of course (since I use about sixteen per month), but I usually throw those away by the time I get home.

What I do when I take everything unnecessary out of my wallet is basically this: I carefully examine every single receipt starting from the place, trying to identify it, then moving on down if I remember that particular purchase. If I don’t, which is most likely, I look for help with the date and time. Then associate the time with the place or the address, and see if I do remember. Otherwise, I read every valuable information (item purchased, its cost) until I have at least a clue. I try to read everything, and fix that particular moment of purchase in my mind, even if for a brief moment.

Then I fold a bunch of receipts altogether, and throw them away.

I like paying a little farewell before getting rid of them in an anonymous bin. Still, they are a part of me, of my own personal experience. I’m very jealous of everything I own, and I’m never confident in changing an established feature I feel as a part of myself, wether important or not.

In a way, though, I also need to get rid of them. The act of destroying past experiences prepares the ground for a nice fresh start, and is a necessary step to take when facing anything new. It’s not about forgetting or throwing away, quite the contrary: it’s actually about remembering, it’s an acknowledgement. That’s why the whole process usually takes place at the beginning of the week or at the beginning of the weekend, on a train.

A train on tracks is a non-place: it is just a moving object in which you wait to be taken from one place to another. There is nothing else on the tracks than the tracks themselves. They represent a use, not a place. What better place to let the mind stroll freely, wander carelessly and at the same time be aware of itself with a regeneration process that involves destruction?

Anyway, at the beginning of the week I’ll have a lighter wallet to fill with new receipts.

Later on this evening italians will know what it’s going to be. Like most of them, I’ll be tuning the TV (despite previous protests) on news reports, following the counting of the votes with a stiff grip on the flag and sudden worried looks to the picture of Azeglio (…what the heck?) on the living room wall.

And maybe we’ll have some beer. Yes, definitely. A lot.

I’ve been watching no television at all these past weeks. Ok, I’m always stuck here on my computer watching movies and series (and listening to music, but that’s another story), but I’m pretty sure I don’t really miss it. I’ve convinced myself over the years (and after in-depth studies @ uni, haha) that television isn’t but a means to control. Society controls itself by airing all-day its own self-celebration.

That can be really energy-consuming and it eventually ends up being the perfect sedative. All you see on screen is nice and good-looking. Rich. Happy. Beautiful. And when you happen to witness anything you wouldn’t like to see you can always turn the telly off. Worse: you think that after all what you see will never happen to you. That you can still change the channel, and tune back to the usual bliss: a never-ending parade of people winning big money on quizzes, hot-looking young girls and boys, movie stars, politicians wearing plastic masks instead of faces and displaying supposed rock-solid morals… It’s all there for you, with that familiar warm buzz on the back of your head.

What I’ve always been doing in my life is trying to look behind what is put before my eyes. Trying to get to see things from other perspectives, trying to understand how and why things work the way they do. Trying to get into the inside of things. Never accepting what is given for what it is because “that’s the way it is” or because it could be hard to understand. I’m always looking for the back door: sometimes to avoid deep involvement, but most of the times to learn what is being hidden, either voluntarily or involuntarily. I’ve always felt the need to unveil the marionette’s strings, so to speak.

Television is the perfect example of something that is meant to be mere appearance: the content is much less important than the form. Everything that’s behind the scenes is cautiously hidden, or shown only on particular occasions. There is probably nothing more boring than a television production. At least, for the audience. And boredom is probably sliding down into fear, as “unveiling the magic” could cause the meticulously built structure to collapse on itself. Nobody wants that. People want control. They need it, not to feel lost. Not to be left alone with their own self and its complaints. Because it is clearly easier to be part of the happy mass of the sedated, thinking that everything is fine as they are told all the time. There’s no space for doubting that what they see is what they are, or they’ll collapse too.

No harsh feelings, but I’ll leave all that to those who still think that there is no back door.