Displacement and eroticism

Getting up early today to look at the awakening sun and, as it were, to awaken myself after it, I went for a walk through the neighboring fields and meadows, in essence - just along a country road, where on one side there is a field, on the other - a meadow, or on both - meadows, or on both - fields... who cares, in the end. Everything there is seeded with something from which oil is then made, but it is not a sunflower, because I would definitely recognize it, it is some kind of small bright yellow crap - also, however, very beautiful and, coupled with the abundantly falling sunlight, gives an amazing effect of golden yellowness, unless the last phrase is oil. Doesn't matter. The road, I would still call it a path, so the path is one kilometer there and the same distance back, plus several ten-minute stops to contemplate the delights of rural life. “And there are a lot more of them, I would say, but I won’t list them.” But I’ll just say this. While I was going through the first half of the journey, i.e. there, forward, my spirit was high (I’ll keep silent about the loins), cheerful, and I was glad that I was hie et nunc. Then there was the aforementioned ten-minute pause, I don’t remember which one, I think it was the first, and against the backdrop of beauty, I began to think about the bitterness. What are they? Well, in general, like most people. I'm 37. Is that too much? To say so would be to sin against the Truth, if both exist. However, to say that this is not enough would be to do the same thing. So, being, according to tradition, no longer young, but not yet old, not yet old, no longer young, I thought about what, in fact, I have prepared for this young old age, fruits, that is, where, where are the fruits? The thought just occurred to me that all this has no plot (I will remain silent about the plot. I knew only three people who could make a clear distinction between these literary substances). Don't care about the plot, burn in hell! So, what was created? Well, for starters, the money, which was planned for at least a month and a half or two, taking into account the tastes and ambitions of the local population, has almost run out. Already? Yes, already, that is. two weeks later. To say that they were mercilessly soaked would still be some kind of literary device, but not to say this would also be a literary device, but I want to say something directly about what the mother gave birth to (well, there’s an idiom again). So, I'm 37 and I have almost no money anymore. Does this mean that they once existed and suddenly ended? — To say this would be very optimistic. I would say this: Without starting, they continued for a little while, and now they suddenly ended. Does this happen? Happens. When you are 37 and you, for example, do not have your own home (it did not begin, did not continue, did not end, it does not exist.), you feel like an eternal wanderer. This doesn't mean you move in with new friends every week to stay with them - that's the worst kind of wandering. This means that even if you were offered to live in Versailles, where the Sun once lived, then even there you would feel like some kind of Moon in the second or third phase (what does this mean, phases, I, of course, don’t know, but something must be said when comparing). Crap. I was distracted. Some animal, perhaps a roe deer, came to rub its muzzle against a tree located five meters from the street (there is no other) toilet, i.e. 25 meters from me. There are a lot of these animals here, restless, coming out of the forests without demand and, one would like to say, in a Marxist way, an offer, but still, without an invitation. So what am I talking about? Oh, yes, when you are 37, restless, have nowhere to live. That's what I mean. What does it mean? Does this mean that nothing has been created, not earned, not written (this sounds really crazy), not sold, not enough, i.e. everything is not enough, does this mean that no one is loved by you and you are loved by no one? Well, yes, yes, that's exactly what it all means. That's how it is. Yes. Strike me with thunder. But what remains in the end? As before, I would say that it is moving oneself and moving objects. Combining them into some new designs, well, for example, when a pencil on the table, being at rest in relation to you at an angle of 38 degrees, moves perpendicularly and so, in a perpendicular position, and continues to be while, for example, you yourself are moving. Where? Oh God. This is difficult to answer. How? How do you get around? This is even more difficult. But we have moved away from the topic. So, returning along the rural path in the opposite direction after the first ten-minute pause...Has everything been said that was discussed in this pause, in the first one, that is? It was said about money, love, housing. Is this not enough for a modern person? It was even said about creativity, i.e. about the absence of everything, but it was said that it happened, which means that it no longer passed without a trace, i.e. somehow, at the very least, it took shape into something that exists with difficulty—in words, that is. You will say that these are words, give deeds, and you will quote the author. Paul, who says that faith without works is dead. So what? He doesn’t say that there is no faith at all, he simply says that it died, well, like a dead body, because you can’t say that there is no dead person at all, in some respects he still exists, not as before, of course, but still, in some respects... So, displacement. They are different. The main ones are imaginary. And to be honest, that is. To be honest, for others there are no movements at all. Well, it turned out so with the human race that everything about it is imaginary. Love, hate, fear, despair, etc. - all this is invented and does not exist in reality, and there is no trace of the case itself. This is just a verbal trick so as not to get completely lost in the world of the imagination. We'll be back. Movements. They are global and local. There are also movements without changing places - the best option for moving. The body is capable of moving with all the passion, but the brain somehow manages to resist it and not move anywhere. How is this possible? This happens at the Airport. Nobody goes anywhere there - and that’s wonderful! Everyone has gathered in one place, a giant hub, and is not going anywhere. This, of course, is because an airplane, by its nature, should take away the illusion of movement - you simply enter one door and exit through another or even the same one. At the same time, your face is full of happiness that you have moved. And your face was full of happiness when you moved, because this happened in your life too? Yes, it was, it was full of happiness, because it was always very drunk. Drinking made him happy, not moving. Does a pencil move in the same relation relative to an eraser or a ruler, as a person moves relative to a person or a part of the world, or some meridian? I would say yes. But the movement of dead objects - pencils, erasers, pens, plates, glasses, tablecloths, baskets, saucers, spoons, forks and other objects - is more truthful. All these dead things take up the places they are in. People, hardly. That is, it seems, of course, that people also take up space when moving, for example, from Puerto Rico to Port Said, but it only seems so. In fact, people always stay in the same place, in a place that does not exist, in placelessness, in utopia, in short, what the hell! Wait, but today you yourself walked back and forth and looked at these yellow flowers or whatever they were, well, that’s what I’m talking about, oh, yes, well, you moved at the same time? In some respects, absolutely. But when I walked the same path 25 years ago, because this is not the first time in my life I have already been here, the movement was carried out completely differently - without question. Forward, backward and pleasure. Oh yes! This sweet word is pleasure. It was present everywhere then. Was it of an erotic nature? At that age, everything is of an erotic nature, even first communion, and even more so confirmation. So maybe the problem is that there is less eroticism, or that evil and powerful people have appropriated the right to it? Amen! This is true. There is very little eroticism. Those. it cannot be said that he does not exist at all, he seems to be present in some signs of himself, but his former self, not his existing one. In other words, eroticism is consumed. About the same as a store-bought banana or pear. This, of course, is not the same type of commodity as the above, just as labor is also a sui generis commodity. Does the number of sexual acts affect your current well-being, maybe you just haven’t fucked enough in your life? God knows - not enough! But I had an imaginary, which replaced for me much of what people call real. Well, having once heard from one wise man that sexual relations do not exist (don’t ask further what this means), I calmed down and, in general, thought that I had not lost anything in this regard. Well, there is simply a scheme for the movement of capital: commodity-money-commodity. This is really quite simple. And you probably wanted it to be like this: sex-love-sex-love and ad infinitum?... It’s windy today. It rains every day, and it will rain today. Forest spaces are not conducive to activity. Why did you come? Why are you asking? Who are you? Who's here?