哲学なんていらない哲学は

Last week, I read Ano's book, 哲学なんていらない哲学は. I don't read Japanese, so I found a discounted epub (¥800) that can only be viewed on the store's website or app, and whose text can't be selected, to prevent copyright infringement. I screenshotted every page, OCRed them to rebuild the book from scratch, machine-translated everything, and made a new document, in English this time, which I turned into an .epub file. I made an alternate cover, using the picture from the third chapter opener.

The book, presented as a philosophy essay, is actually closer to an autobiography that evokes philosophy than to a proper philosophy book. She recounts her school days, when she was bullied; her idol days, when she was ostracised; her habit of self-harm; the death of her chinchilla; her mother's cancer; her Ménière's disease; and her multiple fractures and the stitches or surgeries that ensued. Within all of this, she weaves in her own philosophy.

I can only assume half the beauty of the book was lost in translation, but I still believe I got most of what she tried to say.

"So don’t dismiss your own anguish. Sometimes you need to be kind to yourself and gently pat your own head. You don’t need some grand reason to tell someone, ask for help, leave the place you’re in, or cry. Disinfect the small wound before it becomes fatal."

This paragraph in particular got me, because asking for help or trying to find a reason to stay has become very hard for me. Being kind to myself is something I have basically never been able to do. But I try, here and there I try, even when I get paranoid about people plotting against me and spiral into self-hatred. I don't gently pat my own head, but I try to give myself some grace. I'll buy a book or two, or eat a €10 meal, and I won't regret it. 

I felt deeply ashamed recently because I cut myself for the first time in twenty-five years. I have many friends who have done it, or still do, and I guess I wanted to know why so many people did it. I remember having read somewhere that most did it because it turned an abstract, psychic pain into a fathomable, physical pain. Either I'm too broken for it to work, or I'm not the right target for this kind of self-harm (I've had my own ways for years now, like sleep deprivation or sabotaging), but I only felt shame and blamed the cat for the cuts on my forearm and my knuckles.

Her book concludes with a single sentence: 

"I have no choice but to live."

You're right, Ano-chan, me neither. 

Lecture

 

This photograph, simply entitled Lecture, was taken in 1979 by a twenty-four-year-old Hervé Guibert. Despite its premise, as simple as its title, I think it may just be my favourite photograph —ever—.

 

Here, I think, the punctum (to borrow Barthes's word) is the way light and shadow cut the upright book in two, right across its middle. Perhaps the window's handle, all alone in the blacks of the picture. Or maybe the thin sliver of light pooling along the sill. (I think it's that one.) I don't really care about the trees in the background, or about the book itself. It's the dark that draws me; so comforting.

 

If a genie came and asked me for my three wishes, I'd say: to turn into a proper woman, to speak all the languages I want, and to live in this picture. Or the room where it was taken, but only if that lighting never changes and it remains black and white.

 

Look closely: isn't the way the pages curve and the light caresses them so erotic?

Laughter

Two girls are sitting across from me on the bus and I can hear them laugh, even through my noise-cancelling headphones. I do not look at them; I'm trying to read, but I can't help thinking that they're laughing at me.

It's not like I was ever explicitly pointed at and laughed at as a child or a teenager, like in those bad Disney Channel series I watched back then, so there is no trauma response in that sense. But whenever people laugh, it has to be about me (is this egocentrism or self-consciousness?).

My greatest fear is being misunderstood, and it's common knowledge that laughter is a defence mechanism. Maybe those who laugh at me when I explain something they don't understand do it because it hurts their pride, but I'm the one who suffers the most in those interactions. What about those who laugh at me for the love of it, whether wilfully or idly?

Is there something on my face? Is my hair unkempt? Did I stain myself? Am I ugly? Fat? Do I look like a faggot? Or a tranny? Or is there no reason at all, and I was picked at random? The truth is, it doesn't matter much, at least not as much as the simple fact of being laughed at, even when I'm not.

Untitled

Swallowed by anguish I went to Saint Radegund's church and laid my hands on her stone coffin. All I could hear was the echo of that old woman's snoring; I didn't know one could be so loud. In the crypt also lie Saint Agnes and Saint Disciole. That's where you'll find those small windows. I sent their pictures to Safa-Maria, who said they soothed them. 

I am not a very religious person. Or rather, I am not a very good religious person: I don't pray often; I don't attend mass; I don't believe in Hell (or if I do I think of it as empty); I believe in reincarnation; and I often wish I could have sex with God, to make sure that He still loves me. Yet I still call myself a Catholic, because I still have faith. Faith in the future, faith in those I love. 

"Soyez bénis par ma main gauche, soyez sanctifiés par ma main droite, anges protégés par mon amour universel. Je baise votre visage, je baise votre poitrine, je baise, avec mes lèvres suaves, les diverses parties de votre corps harmonieux et parfumé." 

I finished Lautréamont's complete works on the way back home. I wrote a four thousand words prose poem about him, among others, for a poetry collection I'm now done working on, called Aguas Felices, a title I borrowed from Isabelle Allende's De Amor y de Sombra. In this poem, the narrator who bears my name is obsessed with a fourteen-storey rooftop in Montevideo (dónde el Lautréamont nació), stuck in a cold blue hour, hill-perched above the clouds and below the sky. 

If such a place exists, will you bring me there? 

Six

My favourite song is called '6' and was made by my favourite band, 모임 별. It's a fable, about turning into a hummingbird. I decided I'd give you my top 6 everything as an introduction:

Bands:

1. 모임 별
2. 푸른새벽
3. スーパーカー
4. Low
5. Lama
6. K.C. Accidental

Solo acts:

1. 王菲
2. あの
3. bice
4. 椎名林檎
5. フルカワミキ
6. 박정현

Albums:

1. 푸른새벽 - 푸른새벽
2. スーパーカー - HIGHVISION
3. Kara-Lis Coverdale - Aftertouches
4. 백현진 - 반성의 시간
5. 모임 별 - 월간뱀파이어 4호 '.mp3'
6. 클라우드 쿠쿠랜드 - 클라우드 쿠쿠랜드

Songs:

1. 모임 별 - 6
2. K.C. Accidental - Them (Pop Song #3333)
3. 푸른새벽 - 스무살
4. スーパーカー - SILENT YARITORI
5. Perfume - エレクトロ・ワールド
6. 柴田聡子 - ストレートな糸

Films:

1. ワンダフルライフ (1998)
2. ドライブ・マイ・カー (2021)
3. 漫长的告白 (2021)
4. 仕事と日（塩谷の谷間で) (2020)
5. แสงศตวรรษ (2006)
6. 곡성 (2016)

Directors:

1. 张律
2. 濱口竜介
3. Robert Bresson
4. 贾樟柯
5. นวพล ธำรงรัตนฤทธิ์
6. 홍상수

Books:

1. Dictee (1982)
2. 蒙馬特遺書 (1996)
3. Дя́дя Ва́ня (1897)
4. Les Chants de Maldoror (1868)
5. The Country Between Us (1981)
6. Estadio de exilio (2003)

Authors:

1. Hervé Guibert
2. Theresa Hak Kyung Cha
3. Lautréamont
4. Alejandra Pizarnik
5. Cristina Peri Rossi
6. Roland Barthes

Games:

1. 零 月蝕の仮面 (2008)
2. シルバー事件 (1999)
3. サイレントヒル2 (2001)
4. The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind (2002)
5. ペルソナ4 ザ・ゴールデン (2012)
6. 真・女神転生III-NOCTURNE (2003)

TV shows:

1. Lost (2004)
2. Twin Peaks (1990)
3. Succession (2018)
4. Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997)
5. 舞妓さんちのまかないさん (2023)
6. Riverdale (2017)

Anime:

1. カウボーイビバップ (1998)
2. serial experiments lain (1998)
3. サニーボーイ (2021)
4. 四畳半神話大系 (2010)
5. プラトニック・チェーン (2002)
6. 新世紀エヴァンゲリオン (1995)

Manga:

1. よつばと! (2003)
2. 東京喰種:re (2014)
3. ハピネス (2015)
4. ソウルイーター (2004)
5. モンスタ (1994)
6. メジロバナの咲く (2019)

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