Théo d'Or ’s review of What Is Death? > Likes and Comments
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Indeed. Is like I hear him asking " how long will you pretend you're not next ? "
We always plan, and dream, as if assuming there will always be a " tomorrow ". But if so, how should one live ? Irony isn't just irony. It is an armor, as you told me once. We should live like Duchamp's epitaph is written for you. Once you accept that you're next, something shifts. Let it say " I knew I was next. So I lived like I was first. "
Btw, someone could write a book using nothing but the epitaphs of those buried in Père Lachaise cemetery. It is one of my favorite places of pilgrimage. The stones, there, really speak.
Merci, Théo.
Have you ever read Paris Nunca Se Acaba by Enrique Vila-Matas?
Re-read, actually. I found you there :))
I just re-read the review. Paris left its mark on Hemingway—and on me too, back when I was a child playing with the tiny pebbles in the little gardens by the Arc de Triomphe. Do you remember me telling you that story?
Oh, bien sûr.... What a coincidence that we go from the stones of Père Lachaise to the little stones from the Arc de Triomphe .....From childhood to cemetery... Quite camusian :))
Or like playing Monopoly: do not pass Go, go straight to jail!
Camusian twist - I am the jail. Welcome in !
A Kafkaesque twist: although you're detained, it doesn't stop you from going to work. Nothing interferes with your ordinary life.
Oh, living proof that routine
survives anything... And if routine can survive confinement, maybe it was never a sign of freedom to begin with. I see it like a mask we wear to feel in control. I used to think freedom was about choices, but now I realize it is also about space. Mental space. That's what confinement steals. Not just mobility, but spontaneity. Like ours, in our exchanges..
A Victor Hugo twist: you are condemned to the galleys.
A Celestian twist - you are condemned to invented words.
Hahahaha ! C'est moi qui te obrigamercie, Celeste !
Sempre Fidelizamente !
Baim? That’s pure Porto style. A flawless Porto accent. BRAVO!
Hahaha ! I only followed the French form of " bem ".
Is that form for real ?
It’s spelled “bem,” but in Porto it’s pronounced more like “baim.” Spot on. BRAVÍSSIMO....
"Going home"? "Flying Away"? "To be or not to be; that is the question."
Haha ! Inspiration divine, ou coup de bol ? Ou le génie m'a encore frappé...
To be or not to be - reviewed it for free - that is the question, it's me or she - I tried à lot, but I can't see.
Thank you, Gary.
Love your poetic review, as always.
Glad you liked it, BD. Thank you very much, sometimes I feel like turning prose into poetry, when the topic really " requires " this :))
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Indeed. Is like I hear him asking " how long will you pretend you're not next ? "We always plan, and dream, as if assuming there will always be a " tomorrow ". But if so, how should one live ? Irony isn't just irony. It is an armor, as you told me once. We should live like Duchamp's epitaph is written for you. Once you accept that you're next, something shifts. Let it say " I knew I was next. So I lived like I was first. "
Btw, someone could write a book using nothing but the epitaphs of those buried in Père Lachaise cemetery. It is one of my favorite places of pilgrimage. The stones, there, really speak.
Merci, Théo.Have you ever read Paris Nunca Se Acaba by Enrique Vila-Matas?
Re-read, actually. I found you there :))
I just re-read the review. Paris left its mark on Hemingway—and on me too, back when I was a child playing with the tiny pebbles in the little gardens by the Arc de Triomphe. Do you remember me telling you that story?
Oh, bien sûr.... What a coincidence that we go from the stones of Père Lachaise to the little stones from the Arc de Triomphe .....From childhood to cemetery... Quite camusian :))
Or like playing Monopoly: do not pass Go, go straight to jail!
Camusian twist - I am the jail. Welcome in !
A Kafkaesque twist: although you're detained, it doesn't stop you from going to work. Nothing interferes with your ordinary life.
Oh, living proof that routine survives anything... And if routine can survive confinement, maybe it was never a sign of freedom to begin with. I see it like a mask we wear to feel in control. I used to think freedom was about choices, but now I realize it is also about space. Mental space. That's what confinement steals. Not just mobility, but spontaneity. Like ours, in our exchanges..
A Victor Hugo twist: you are condemned to the galleys.
A Celestian twist - you are condemned to invented words.
Hahahaha ! C'est moi qui te obrigamercie, Celeste !Sempre Fidelizamente !
Baim? That’s pure Porto style. A flawless Porto accent. BRAVO!
Hahaha ! I only followed the French form of " bem ". Is that form for real ?
It’s spelled “bem,” but in Porto it’s pronounced more like “baim.” Spot on. BRAVÍSSIMO....
"Going home"? "Flying Away"? "To be or not to be; that is the question."
Haha ! Inspiration divine, ou coup de bol ? Ou le génie m'a encore frappé...
To be or not to be - reviewed it for free - that is the question, it's me or she - I tried à lot, but I can't see. Thank you, Gary.
Love your poetic review, as always.
Glad you liked it, BD. Thank you very much, sometimes I feel like turning prose into poetry, when the topic really " requires " this :))
Speaking of death, the most ironic phrase I know — perhaps the most unsurpassably ironic of all — is Duchamp’s epitaph:
« D’ailleurs, c’est toujours les autres qui meurent. »