Paula Marchesini

But how does one sustain such project? The terror of everyday life kicks in and destroys every attempt at authenticity. There is no ignoring it. Maybe we must accept the terror, see it not as destruction, but as the foundation of the possibility of authenticity. It is because life is meaningless that I must give, that I must be the source of meaningfulness. Meaningfulness is all that can be offered against death, and it is constantly being created from nothing. It isn't simply found. It doesn't lay hiding…

All of a sudden I have been feeling the importance of the accumulation of time. Time gives us backgrounds to measure time against. I am now a woman, a human, with a past. So much has happened and each new event falls into that net and changes it. An infinite ever changing net of relations. From it springs... meaning. I have not in the past had a sense of meaning as I am able to have now. A sense of how each event leads to the next, of how I unconsciously moved from goal to goal, from being to being. Of…

I have finally made peace with the songs I wrote as a young girl. And I just discovered they are still for sale out there! Awesome!

http://www.cduniverse.com/productinfo.asp?pid=7116460&style=music

HUNGER

They had longed for

familiarity.

They had been

advised against words

too often

not to abuse them

in minute endless talks.

autopsying their silences

to the utmost cruelty

as if it were a sin

not to translate,

even what can be shown.

Their voices

were everywhere

dangerously disturbing

the universe.

When it was installed,

their avoidance

for each other, for every detail of one another,

it too was spoken of

to exhaustion.

Nothing happens

That cannot be narrated.

As I turned into Laurel street, the small meaningless street off Somerville Ave, I remembered… Poetry. It had been long since I had thought about it. As a child I had written a poem or two. The feeling had made an impression on me, of formless ideas becoming words and being printed into rhythms, sounds, rhymes. A feeling so intense, so close to the truth of things, that I declared myself poet. But I wrote no more. I bought many notebooks, I looked out of windows here and there, sometimes for hours…

The less reasons one has to justify life, the more it becomes its own justification. And there we find the source. Where life is supported by nothing but itself. There is an eternal flow emanating from that self-sustaining circle. Because it supports itself, nothing can deviate its power. To be connected to it, is to have eternal strength. This is the strength of saints and martyrs, the ones who can perpetually give without taking. The strength of what is done in the name of nothing. In the circle…

After something is brought into the world, it is dead. To mess with it further is to kick the dead. Invention is the only source of life.

And yet… Authority is the obvious. It is what we are doing when we are not looking. There is no reason to not have it. No real reason. Only the kinds of reason related to self-sabotage, which are all fake. 

What is it that I want to learn? I do not want to acquire skills. Skills are silly things that come and go throughout one’s life. They are temporary, conditional things. It seems that I want to learn something permanent. I want to learn the art of living. For this is what I do most of the time. I simply live. It is a wild jump of the imagination for a tree, whose simple purpose is to live inside its environment, to want to acquire skills, and do things, and become good and admirable at things, as though…

Dissatisfaction is quite an enigmatic feeling. We are often dissatisfied because we feel the thing that would make us happy is out of reach or forbidden. Then, when a flicker of truth propels us to even imagine its possibility, to declare it openly and shamelessly, we are suddenly living in eternal bliss, unable to make sense of the suffocation that seemed permanent one second earlier. 

Repression is generated in many ways, often by what lies beyond one’s field of vision. Structures, for instance, generate repression by making invisible everything that lies outside of them. The structures that dictate sexual organization, make invisible and abnormal all kinds of relationship that are not catalogued. Even worst, they make the possibility of discovering new kinds of relationship invisible, impossible. But this possibility of discovery is what generated the kinds of relationship that have…