“-und doch ist es so, dass alles, was wir heute schreiben und denken und tun, dass also alles, was uns politisch und intellektuell beschäftigt, ein Echo auf die schrecklichste aller schrecklichen Zeiten ist.”– Maxim Biller
I read this today and it struck me as true. Translated roughly: “and so is it, that everything, what we today write and think and do, and that also everything, what occupies us politically and intellectually, is an echo of the most frightening of frightening times.” I seem to be drawn to this idea, whether out of curiosity out or guilt, that we are preoccupied with the what terribly happens in our lives. This doesn’t mean that it defines our lives, but matters for just an hour or so, just every so often, and that anything might initiate this feeling, a brush of skin, notes of a song, or an innocent conversation. It does mean, however, that who we are and what we produce is intimately related to the these times. The way I feel about you now, so utterly confused, has a lot to do with what happened. I haven’t been able to write for days; I can’t really think of anything else to say, all I can do is sip my blueberry juice.
“Do you believe me, no?– You’re still listening”