Et in Arcadia Ego

Violence tortures me. I hate it, I run away from it; I try to avoid it as much as I can. Violence is my weakest spot, be it physical or hidden in the spoken word. I turn off the TV when I see it, or I change the channel. I skipped classes when my teachers/professors were too aggressive, I gave up my pride, my point of view when my friends were too violent in their language. I withdraw in myself. In 90% of the cases, I run away. Because violence is my torture, the thing that I hate the most, the thing that I cannot face. Sometimes I answer through violence. And I hate myself when I do this. I wish we could live in a peaceful world, without wars, fights, violence….

“It was thirty minutes before anyone appeared in the street.  They spoke in whispers.  As they approached the cantina one of the men from inside appeared in the doorway like a bloody apparition.  He had been scalped and the blood was all run down into his eyes and he was holding shut a huge hole in his chest where pink froth breathed in and out.  One of the citizens laid a hand on his shoulder.

A donde vas? He said.

A casa, said the man.” (190)

So how the hell can I read and choose him?

I strongly believe we are our choices. And as this book points out, human beings are beasts. It is in our nature – Americans, Romanians, Chinese, Russians – to be driven by evil, to hit, to kill, to hurt the one next to us. We are selfish beings, animals, and most of us are unable to see the Other, be it male or female, husband or wife, mother, father, friend, sister or brother. We see ourselves as the Universe, either we acknowledge this or not, and nobody and nothing else, except our needs, matter. In our road to success, or growing up, we leave behind dreams, people, principles. We blame the others, rarely ourselves. We lack time to try to see through their eyes. And we become the things that we hated the most. In our way to conquer civilization.  

Cormac McCarthy is a highly intellectual writer. His prose is filled with symbols from various areas, and in order to really understand him you need some help – history books, knowledge of Spanish, German, philosophy, religion. He is one of the most lyrical writers that I have ever known. And at the same time, Blood Meridian is by far the most violent book that I have ever read, and one of the most shocking. It was really difficult to digest, to understand, and way too often it was unbearable. It was also difficult when it came to vocabulary, to syntax, to style. After I had finished it, I didn’t know what I want to do next: to start all over again, so I can understand it better, or I felt happy that it was over, no more massacres, deaths, killings …

I don’t know how many can read such a book because of its violence and language, but I know for sure that this novel goes beyond literature. Man is war, man is destruction, man is chaos. And still, I stubbornly believe that there is a glimpse of hope for this world. Because violence is my torture.  

If I were God ...

As sfasia pagini de jurnal, si toate acele insemnari postmoderne dintr-o epoca prea digitala, as sfasia amintirile, si zilele, si parti din cine sunt. As rupe bucati din gandurile mele si le-as azvarli in toate valurile care ma-nconjoara. Si m-as adanci si eu, odata cu ele, in mare, in valuri, in tacere. As opri din mersul lui firesc un carusel si l-as face sa se intoarca indarat, to the square one. As ingropa fiecare sunet dinainte de a se naste, in cotloanele impaienjenite ale caselor modeste, prin dulapuri de bucatarie, prin sifoniere, prin unghere, lasand ca praful sa se asterne peste ele. Si tacerea. Primordiala, adanca, atotcuprinzatoare. As ucide fiecare cuvant, fiecare silaba dinauntrul meu, si apoi as trage obloanele ferestrelor prin care pot privi acea mare si acel alt eu zbatandu-se in ea. Le-as lua pe toate – si val, si mare, si sunet, si gand – si le-as transforma in mici fulgi de nea, oferindu-i omenirii. Pagini mazgalite sau ascunse-n vreun fisier, caruseluri ruginite de povara propriilor amintiri … Ar ninge incet, ar ninge continuu, ar ninge in tacere, fara durere, cu tot si peste tot ce-a fost scris candva de-un alt Dumnezeu mai mare decat mine.