Tag Archives: Essay

Castro vs. Guevara…

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It was hard to decide a nominal primacy in the title; as hard as any attempt to do “justice” in times when simple concepts as “justice” have long lost their original meaning, if at any moment of their history, any… In the end, I left it to my musical ear to decide, and it looks like some “justice” has been done, to the alphabetical order as well.

For those of you with an interest in this foremost classical example of mediasaur-free politics, who have never seen Steven Soderbergh’s “Che”, starring Benicio Del Toro, please do so, if you would want to emotionally grasp my tittle’s depth of what same-ideology adversity means… Because the lives of these two ideology giants were so identical, yet completely different, like the life of a Cuban cigar…

You see, a Cuban cigar (or any other cigar, even if no other tobacco leaf roll seems to be worth truly of the “cigar” title) has two, vitally important ingredients: Cuban tobacco leafs and fire; and while both are necessary for the rich smoke to tickle the smoker’s fancies, it’s only the leaves which would ever come into an intimate contact with the addicted lips, leaving the passionately burning tip at a desirable safe distance.
This has been the case for Castro and Guevara: both burnt passionately, yet only one of them remained to kiss as long as allowed, their beloved island country’s battled shore-lips.
Of course, a comparison is not, and it should never be an end in a political profiler’s tool box, being nevertheless -if properly managed- a versatile ally, in our case a means of understanding a core issue of -probably- one of the world’s most socio-politically controversial countries.

It is very unfortunate for any nation’s historical future, that their most passionate ideologists seem to never learn the use of sanity-dictated limitations to their burning, either because they may think such limitations could quench the driving force of their dedication, or simply because they are incapable of such. It’s always them who will fall victims to the inescapable cleansing/purging mechanisms of any revolutionary process, either by internal means, as it was the case of the French or Russian events, or external, as in Guevara’s case, because one of the seldom to be found qualities of a revolutionary genius -so badly- should be some self-imposed limitations, without which their passion turns into an all-consuming, ultimately destroying blaze.
Revolutions are mighty fires, and fires must be controlled in order to remain useful. Otherwise they will invariably destroy the very achievements their passionate heat have ushered in.
What do I understand by limitations? Well, exactly what “limitation” conceptually covers, a deliberate set of boundaries, implemented in order to make the difference between order and chaos, sanity and anarchy.

Would the Cuban revolution have been the same without any of it’s two giants?

I don’t know, but if you’ve got the privilege of holding with your mortal lips a Cuban cigar, never forget asking for the fire…

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“Guard your heart, above all…”

or Orwell’s 1984, revisited…

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“Who controls the past, controls the future…
…who controls the present, controls the past.”
George Orwell

It’s never been easy to return… Anywhere…
Especially to places echoing unwanted memories, long gone past times stubbornly alive and well enough to torn -always nearly- healed wounds. Then comes the bleeding, the tears, and the eagerly seeking emotional “healers”, ready to open another “friendly wound” nearby, just to reassure themselves a higher place in some heavenly Disneyland…

Having -to some degree, and to the outspoken surprise of many- successfully baptised in two (1st, 2nd) former articles, Orwell’s “1984” onto a -never intended by the author- creationist pamphlet, I decided to return for a much needed revision of the past, motivated by my newly found liberty of thinking, in a honesty driven attempt to do some justice to both Orwell and myself.

To shortly summarise it, I don’t believe anymore in a biblical creationism which’s originator is supposed to be a deity not at all impressed by the worldwide daily torture and genocide of innocent humans, with a tragic emphasis on children -all for his glory-.
I never believed either, because there’s nothing neither rational nor logic to believe in, evolutionism, having settled myself into believing in mankind’s absolute depravity, in a world where the one thing worth living for, is the love of those who love you… And if no one loves you, read Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” monumental Trilogy and you’ll see, you’re not alone!

Having said that, I shall proceed to using the introductory quote in a much more simple fashion than that of some fans, who like to over-complicate Orwell even when that hasn’t seem to have been intended by Orwell himself. Because it is as clear as an evening’s shadow, that Orwell’s statement is nothing more than a very logical statement of the obvious. Or, to have it a bit straightened, who controls the past, does that from the same present from where the future is highly influenceable too.
In my -actually our-, rather awkward case, the past starts exactly where any logical inquiry should start, at the unknown, precise moment of our collective origins, shrunk for practicality’s sake only to humankind’s.
To be frank, no one has the slightest, absolutely comprehensive idea of what and how it was, or about who has done it, I myself joining therefore the ever swelling number of the “ain’t got a clue” club, with its daily multiplying group, or individual branches, all based on fairly unclear preferences.

As the main reason of this “revisit” is an utmost determined attempt to change the present-influencing past, I have to humbly remind my reader that the “YouTube” called devilish invention (cursed be its name), stubbornly stores hours of my past, of which as much as I would dream about, I can’t dissociate myself. As a matter of fact, some of the issues discussed there still occupy the “convictions” shelves of my intellectual stand, those having to do with what Pullman called “experimental theology”, as they deal with both scientific and spiritual matters, an otherwise just fancy terminology for the seen and the unseen…
Unfortunately still, probably several thousands of gullible Christians are still being spoon-fed by interested groups and individuals with things I’ve honestly said in a recent past when I believed and vigorously defended every single thing I’ve said; nevertheless, that’s not the case anymore…
It was exactly the rigour of facts against make-beliefs which convinced me to take everything I’ve adhered to, down to those infrastructural basics where not even Paul the Apostate’s “hopeful belief” could paint over the plain, factual truth.

What can I do about it, now?

Well, exactly what you Dear Reader can see for yourself: writing out my heart, the one about I’ve so painstakingly learned it is not the root of all evil, but the one true fountain of anything left good in us, oftentimes so stained and tired that it does nothing but wrong, thus hopelessly crying out for help…

Do I control the past? Yes, by all means, if I am at any subsequent time able to take a stand against anything I’ve done in it, I am controlling it.
Can I repair the wrongs I’ve done in the past? Yes, by all means, if I am able to -at any possible level- address what I’ve done in it, I already started repairing the damage caused… All of it? Oh, come on!
We’ve got a problem, us humans, with this “all” concept of ours, which robs us of the so many, literally infinite satisfactions, sacrificed at the feet of our self-made gods of an inexistent “perfection”.
Nothing’s perfect, no, and sorry all you religious folks, your gods are no exception, otherwise how do you think we’ve gotten all this, historically proven c**p? Out of something “perfect”? Oh, please, would you grow up?
Any “all” has a start which none of us knows where and when it will end, bearing within like a seed’s germ, what’s going to grow of it.
There’s no wholeness, no perfection, just parts of an unknown infinite, where nothing has any meaning without it’s vicinity, where right and wrong have become mere points of view, and one’s life seems to always be, someone else’s death…
There is nevertheless a beautiful common sense of good, the one reflected back through the eyes of innocent little children!
They haven’t learned to lie yet…

Life sucks, my friends, or as the wise uncle Solomon has put it, “All is vanity.”
As a matter of fact, I should start a “new” religion based entirely on the biblical Book of Ecclesiastes…

Unfortunately for me, “There’s nothing new under the sun…”

When your mind is in the wrong place…

-A short essay on Nazim Hikmet…-

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“at the age of fifty found his mind in his heart”
Nazim Hikmet

How strange… Of most people it would be expected to have been mentally settled by the age of fifty; how wrong…
I have found my introductory quote within the opening thoughts of an -until now- unknown (for me) Turkish writer’s “Don Quixote”…
Fond of Cervantes’ Don since my windmilled childhood, it wasn’t though the lone rider’s quest for Dulcinea which struck my senses -as I have found my own, two decades ago-, but Hikmet’s absolutely elemental statement, which at the beginning of this 2013th year of my becoming half a century old/young, bears a rather stormy significance…

It’s been a week before Nazim Hikmet’s passing away on the 3rd of June, 1963, when I came into a world from which he was about to leave… If I would have known everything he knew at the time, I would have rather stayed… My mother’s womb’s darkness would have been a better place to die than this despicably hopeless world, made just a bit more bearable by my Dulcinea and our four love buds…

Nevertheless, it’s Hikmet’s own discovery which bought me on my own writer’s knees, realising that it might not be long before being too late of using my mind from the place where it always should have been…

Oh, for long have I been seeking understanding from a place bearing nothing else than about 1,5 kg of fat-like tissue, good enough to add up the groceries and play with quantum physics, but uselessly hopeless when it comes to understanding why some idiotic “celebrities” never seem to understand that the problem with helping the “third world’s” starving children is not only the small quantity of candy bars they are offering in front of heavy-cash paying paparazzi’s, but the shamelessly shining Rolex watches on their “charitable” hands…

I’ve always been a leftist, genuinely believing that socialism, stripped of its parasitic “leaders”, is a much better option than the so called “democracies” where “vox populi” is just the number of votes needed every four/five years by an elite ruthlessly playing the usurped “vox Dei” on their behalf…

In fact, about 25 years ago, I was advised to quit a political school I just begun, because of an essay in which I wrote a critique of Romania’s “Animal Farm”-type socialism, based on heart-felt and yes, wept over memories of Engels’ “The Condition of the Working Class in England”, which I have read when I was about thirteen…
Of course, I was totally convinced, as I am today, that it’s not philosophy to blame, but it’s poor grasp and (mal)practice in a world where -more or less political oligarchies- have long taken over all aspects of life, to their own mercantile interests…

Back to my mind…
It’s hard to have found it’s real place, when I wasn’t even aware of what “mind” is, and even less what “heart” is, acting on a rather instinctive range of ethics, spreading from personal to herd…

Well, it looks it’s going to take another -hopefully more than just a- few decades to learn how to properly use my newly found software in its newly found hardware…
Oh, but which is which?
Uh, the min(d) is the soft(ware), because it’s min(e), and the h(e)ar(t) is the hard(ware) because it’s very har(d) to find it in the first place…
But then, why should be something which is mine, soft?
Is it just because it’s made of soft, fatty myelin?
Derp…

How long, and what will it take to learn Hikmet’s value of one’s every moment of good so scarcely left to him in this life?
Without claiming much similitude with his tormented existence, I’ve fled myself my homeland because the “gentlemen” of the day were just the “comrades” of yesterday, pathetically painted over, and some people started to accidentally fall into allegedly malfunctioning elevator pits…
Yet I still haven’t learned -how could have I, with a misplaced mind- the true value of even the smallest good given and still with me, even if only “until evening”…

I can’t do any better for now than hope to have found at least some… hope after all, by quoting Nazim Hikmet’s verses from his “After Release from Prison”:

“Who’s lying at your side?
Not loneliness, but your wife,
in the peaceful sleep of an angel.
[…]
What time is it?
Eight.
That means you’re safe until evening.
Because it’s the practice of police
Never to raid homes in broad daylight.”

Orwellian 1

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It came
as an unexpected shock for many,
the Plenty minister’s decree:
no ordinary party member
shall wear neither boots nor socks
anymore;
the production of tables
shall be replaced by the production
of floors.
It came
as an unexpected shock for few,
the Love minister’s decree:
all ordinary party members
shall have a pair of opposite toes
severed upon everyday entrance to places of work;
medical assistance shall be provided
for supervising inner party members’
nausea.
It came
as an expected shock for all,
the falling always forward
upon fifth arrival at places of work.
It came
as usual,
the Care minister’s decree:
all crawling party members
are forbidden of using
their teeth for on-floor advancement;
it may cause unnecessary damages to floors
and party uniforms.
It came
as an unmerited privilege,
the Education minister’s decree:
ordinary party members
are expected to participate in
The Party’s Got Talent;
winners shall be honoured starring in
the Newfilm version of
“Chariots of Fire”…