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The Fault Line: Traveling the Other Europe, From Finland to Ukraine

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Paolo Rumiz

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“For a few years Trieste once more entered the world’s consciousness, as the Powers argued what to do with it. No longer one of the supreme ports of Europe, it became instead one of those places, like Danzig or Tangier, that have been argued about at international conferences, written about in pamphlets, questioned about in parliamentary debates, less as living cities than as political hypotheses. Winston Churchill, in a famous speech in America, warned the world that an iron curtain had been laid across Europe, dividing democracy and Communism “from Stettin to Trieste.” Abroad the statesmen endlessly parleyed; at home the Triestini of different loyalties, chanting slogans and waving their respective flags, surged about the place rioting. Finally in 1954 the disconsolate and bewildered seaport was given its solution, and Trieste has been what it has been ever since, a geographical and historical anomaly, Italian by sovereignty but in temperament more or less alone.”

Trieste
Book:Trieste And The Meaning Of Nowhere
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“A true suicide is a paced, disciplined certainty. People pontificate, “Suicide is selfishness.” Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call it a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reasons: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one’s audience with one’s mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it—suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what’s selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching. The only selfishness lies in ruining strangers’ days by forcing ’em to witness a grotesqueness. So I’ll make a thick turban from several towels to muffle the shot and soak up the blood, and do it in the bathtub, so it shouldn’t stain any carpets. Last night I left a letter under the manager’s day-office door—he’ll find it at eight A.M. tomorrow—informing him of the change in my existential status, so with luck an innocent chambermaid will be spared an unpleasant surprise. See, I do think of the little people”

DialogueReasoningLife ExperiencesLittle PeopleSucide
Book:Cloud Atlas
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“To speak of creation, There is always a guilt that throbs every artist’s heart on taking the credit of a piece of art that the creative force in the universe has thrusted inside of a human heart and stretched one’s hand towards building sand castles and lines on the ocean. It’s surreal, neither to be seen or to be saved. But if it is both “seen and saved” it could mean the force was strong enough to indulge in the play of the world, to rip apart the womb of the heart of a man and come out, to stretch its wings and break the cage, to scream till your voice reaches the moon. In all such cases it’s always a mystical force that creates art and never the artist.”

ArtistSpiritualityLiteratureWhorehouseThewhorehouse
Author:Miramoon
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