
Moi, je ne dors pas la nuit.
Je contemple un ciel magnifique avec mille et une étoiles, je ne peux pas m’empêcher de réfléchir : les affaires banales, on leur donne trop d’importance ; la mort, il vaut mieux la regarder avec mépris ; et les pensées, il faut les laisser pures. Si je peux faire comme le philosophe stoïcien Marc Aurèle, je voudrais séparer mes pensées de moi-même, tout ce que j’ai dit ou fait, tout ce qui est déjà passé, tout ce qui m’inquiète, tout ce qui est contre mon vouloir, oublier le passé et ignorer l’avenir, et ne me dévouer qu’à ce moment où je respire où je vis, voilà, dans un seul instant, je prends toute l’éternité.
Nous ne serons jamais contents, si nous ne sommes pas contents à ce moment-là, c’est maintenant ou jamais. Dépêchons-nous, parce que la mort est imminente, et tout ce dont on a besoin pour être heureux, c’est juste vouloir être.
Alors, chaque nuit avant que vous vous couchiez, vous pouvez vous dire « j’ai vécu » ?
Je ne peux pas encore.
C’est pourquoi j’ai de l’insomnie.
我變了
真的變了
太脆弱了
一切也太虛幻了
對不起
Oh Gaga…My favourite part of the concert.
I had such a great time last night Gaga. I haven’t let my hair down in a very long time.
And today this song kept looping in my head.
I am going crazy, thinking of all my lovely friends I’m going to say goodbye to.
I wished that we never have to leave Waseda.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
Spring..summer..autumn..winter..spring
and then life is over.
C’est fini.
Je vais être emprisonnée à nouveau dans les ténèbres de l’ombre.
Ne vous demandez pas qui je suis…
Je suis agitée. « Ne vous demandez pas qui je suis et ne me demandez pas de rester le même…laisser à nos bureaucrates et nos policiers pour voir que nos papiers sont en ordre. Au moins nous épargnons leur moralité quand on écrit ». C’est Foucault. Effectivement, il y a tant de moyens de créer, d’expérimenter, de prendre soin de soi-même. Le point essentiel, c’est d’enlever les œillères d’existence fragile pour voir encore une fois, la nouveauté de monde. J’ai hâte d’explorer des repères que nombreux philosophes nous ont passé. S’il faut devenir fou pour connaître ma particularité, alors, laissez-moi me noyer dans mes pensées, mais je sais que ce voyage de réflexion sera dur. On voit que depuis le début de l’histoire de la philosophie, beaucoup de grands penseurs, de Socrate à Althusser, ont terminé leurs vies dramatiquement et tragiquement. Peut-être la douleur d’être malentendus était trop pénible, peut-être ils étaient dévorés par le poison insistant de tristesse, peut-être leurs rêves étaient éclipsés par la réalité moche, peut-être se résigner était la seule façon d’échapper au chaos.
On ne peut que spéculer.
Pourtant, il y a une chose dont je suis sûre, c’est qu’ils avaient aimé la vie avec une passion féroce, que malgré tout désespoir, ils n’ont pas cessé de se poser des questions, de se disputer, de rechercher, d’écrire, de parler, de chanter, de rêver.
Malheureusement, comme toutes les histoires d’amour, des espérances ont échoués, des promesses n’ont pas été atteintes, le cœur s’est cassé.
C’est la vie.
Je reste une pessimiste, et je doute que je serai satisfaite avec les conditions de vie, mais je peux encore l’aimer. Nous devons être tous fous, puisque nous désirons embrasser la vie et ses sacrifices avec tant d’intensité même si de tout façon toute la sagesse est absurde et il n’y a d’accès que par la folie.
Mais, nous adorons la vie, malgré un manque de sens et souvent, un manque de but.
Parce que la vie, c’est d’ÊTRE.
C’est vraiment doux d’être folle.
Do not ask me who I am…
I am restless. “Do not ask me who I am and do not ask me to remain the same…Let us leave it to our bureaucrats and our police to see that our papers are in order”, reflects Foucault in The Archaeology of Knowledge. Indeed there are many ways to experiment, to create or to take care of oneself. What is crucial is to lift off the blinders of unconscious existence to see once again the newness of the world. I cannot wait to explore, since many great philosophers have left behind so many markers for one to drift further along one’s own chosen path. If being mad means holding on to one’s particularity, I would most gladly drown myself in melancholy. Since the beginning of the history of philosophy, many great artists and thinkers from Socrates to Althusser, have ended their lives in dramatic and tragic ways. Maybe the pain of being misunderstood was too hard to bear, maybe they were consumed by the silent insistent poison of loneliness, maybe their ideals have been overshadowed by the ugliness of reality, maybe giving up was the only way out of all that chaos. One can only speculate. But one thing I am sure of is that they have all loved life with a fierce passion. They have been so deliriously in love with life that in all desperation, they never ceased to question, to argue, to seek, to spread the word, to write the truth and to dream their vision of the perfect world. Imagine standing vis-à-vis with an unsympathetic and cruel crowd, who not listening, are ready to cast stones of condemnation even as you remain unwavering in your ideas, how deep the disappointment must be.
Yes indeed, unfortunately, like all love stories, expectations fail, promises are unfulfilled, and the vulnerable heart is broken. I remain pessimistic and I doubt that I will ever be truly satisfied with the conditions of life, but that does not mean I cannot love it. We must all be mad to embrace life and its sacrifices so intensely even though all knowledge is absurd anyway and one cannot access the perfect wisdom except through one’s madness. Yet, we love life for all the freedom it brings, despite its lack of meaning and purpose.
Because life simply is.
It is indeed sweet to be mad.
You say let us desire and let one live life according to our own appetites! You say stop mourning and start living! You say one does not need to set standards to stabilize judgment, you say judge anyway! Judge, in the midst of complexities! You say love the world and not your agenda of the world! You say always look for the point of vitality! You say take each day and live it through. You say do not problematize emptiness! You say choose your battles! You say, “I prefer not to”! You say to take my individuation and run! You quoted Walt Whitman “I am large I contain multitude!” Indeed like the great poet, if I have been contradicting myself, very well, so be it, and let one not be wary of contradictions. Thus I am not advocating that one surrenders all attempts at grappling with reason, I am simply reminding myself that one should never be completely contented with one’s current deployment of reason. If we all lose in life anyway, (so laments Unamuno), then what else is one afraid of losing?
I am consumed by the ecstasy of madness. And I like it.
I’m sentimental
So I walk in the rain
I’ve got some habits
Even I can’t explain
I go to the the corner
and I end up in Spain
Why try to change me now
I sit and daydream
I’ve got daydreams galore
Cigarette ashes
There they go on the floor
I go away weekends
leave my key in the door
why try to change me now
Why can’t I be more conventional
People talk
and they stare
So I try
But that can’t be
Because I can’t see
My strange little world
Just go passing me by
So let people wonder
Let ‘em laugh
Let ‘em frown
You know I’ll love you
Till the moon’s upside down
Don’t you remember
I was always your clown
so Why try to change me now
So let people wonder
Let ‘em laugh
Let ‘em frown
You know I’ll love you
Till the moon’s upside down
Just you remember
I was always your clown
so why try to change me
why would you want to change me
Why try to change me now
“Life’s finest day for wretched mortals here
is always first to flee.”
Could it be that happiness is but overrated?
If being is all about attaining happiness and the search for happiness is the answer to the meaning of life, then could we not perhaps follow the foot steps of the Epicureans, since they embody the ultimate free spirit of living in the moment ? To lead a life in seclusion, away from judgmental eyes, to sever all ties with society, to fear no Gods, to give nothing and to ask for nothing in return from the world. All one needs is pleasure. Not even death disturbs the Epicureans because ‘‘as long as we exist, death is not here. And when it does come, we no longer exist’’.
While it is very liberating and enticing to indulge in a lifetime of enjoyment, with no politics and no pain, one cannot help but wonder: if it is really possible to feel happy all the time, if there were not the occasional grief and melancholy? Could one fully savor the essence of happiness, if one had not felt the aches of loss and regret? Even when we truly have it all, even if we own everything we ever want in the world, would we be truly happy?
Why then do we still see so many unhappy people around us?
Oh mon Dieu, tout passe, tout lasse, tout casse..cette une chanson qui m’émeut tellement. Une telle sentimentalité me tue.
Alors, la vie..la vie…Je languis de l’avenir, Je suis las du présent, j’ai oublié le passé, je me dépêche ma vie, j’envie de plus, je veux être heureux, suis-je heureux ? Après avoir remporté toutes les victoires, après je me suis entourée de tous mes trophées de la richesse, est-ce que j’ai en fait suivi une vie du sens ?
Parlez moi.
As Plato poetically expresses,
‘‘nothing in the sensory world is,
there are only things that come to be and pass away’’.
Everything flows.
But the important thing is to keep asking questions, for are we not the only species blessed with the capacity for active reasoning? Indeed, life flows, no matter if you believe or not that we are merely copies of the ideal Good, no matter if you have faith or not that God is waiting for us in the eternal paradise, no matter if you wonder if you are inhabiting an unreal world living scripted lives as Baudrillard argues, life moves on and it waits for no man. The truth is, maybe ‘the truth’ does not exist. Or maybe, if there are in fact many truths out there, then probably one of them would be simply to live and let live, and to love your fate.
Nietzsche’s ‘‘formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but love it’’.
Love your fate, even if one minute you are planning your own perfect wedding and the next minute, you are diagnosed with a dreadful disease and the whole world comes crashing down, love your fate. Or else, in this world where everything is in constant change and nothing lasts forever anyway, the path that we choose to follow wholeheartedly is the only thing that we have to call our own.
Death is not to be feared, but having lived in vain is.