All human actions, while searching for a branch to hold onto, I suppose, drown in the habit that will manifest in every human expression in a form of deprivation. And what we call new is just another way of saying what you love.
How fruitful can the absurdities of life be? Isn’t it enough for a person to midwife the birth of absurdities and to exclude habitual afterthoughts, thinking “what if absurdity somehow becomes the womb of meaning”? Those who want to understand must fit into a certain pattern of thought, of course. Every time a person understands, they feel they have compromised. A beautiful product, a memoir, or a face, that is, the commonality that allows me to place all expressions I find similarities with their artistry side by side, is not a cause — it was a result. But I guess, since this commonality is not a pattern of thought, even a consciousness open to all kinds of meanings must not have been able to recognize it at first. Our inability to find a reason for this also shows why we cannot understand what we want to understand in order to recognize it later. This side of life is dizzying, this time the Anna Karenina thesis works in reverse: The ugly is always the same ugly, the evil is always evil in the same way. Always a repetition and banality. The good, however, does not compromise its uniqueness in its expression. Always surprising, dizzying. It’s unclear where it comes from or how it arrives. Every time something bad –is felt–, one says “You too?” But every beauty finds only the response “Who are you?” Because even if these expressions create a result from the same essence; their ability to open up meaning through the reflection of a uniqueness, like a human voice, is not unrelated things.
