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“Trip to the End of the Night” by Ferdinand Celine (Part 3)

This French book, published in the early 1930’s, is basically a collection of autobiographical stories of a freshly graduating physician in his mid thirties who established his “clinic” in a poor working neighborhood in the suburb of Paris.

Paying visit to patients after sundown and the medical tour lasting till dawn generate real life stories.

The followings are excerpts, not of the stories, but of the kind of statements that the living among miseries bring up in our mind and emotions.

We have no illusions: We know that the only story we care to communicate is the variety of our pains, aches and frustrations…We care less of what people tell us of their pains and frustrations…All that we do is transfer our aches…The irony is that our pains remain intact, whole, and never vanish…We are expert with grimaces, and with old age, making the face of pain becomes too heavy and complicated…

I am walking and got caught by a mass of people obstructing the street. They were standing in circles and big rosy pig grunting in pain in the middle. The masses were pretty happy and hysterically laughing: They had this golden urban opportunity to hurting the pig, twisting his ears, encouraging a little dog to mount the pig and bite it…And the pig was moaning, whining, and trying to flee from this crazy and hellish circle of insane people…The pig was tugging on the rope, urinating, and going nowhere…Nothing was working for the pig to feel freedom…The butcher was holding a large knife and making faces and wildly gesturing to make people laugh louder…The butcher has learned the best method to amuse the guests at the wedding of his daughter…

What of this famous author husband (Montaigne) who sent his wife a letter on the occasion of the death of her newborn: “Don’t worry dear woman…Things will work out in life, eventually…I just finished reading a letter that another famous author wrote to his wife on a similar occasion…Read this attached letter over and over, and disseminate the content to our friends and acquaintances… I feel pretty serene right now…”

Dr. Baryton stayed away from any physical health intervention. He used to tell me: “Science and life form a destructive mixture. Any question you formulate to the condition of your body is a sure gap that thickness will sneak in…Any beginning of worry, obsession… is ground to let sickness in…What is already known is way enough for me to handle…”

In my case, I longed for a severe flu, high enduring fever, anything that would force me to the quietude of a deep sleep…I have lost confidence of sleeping like normal people do…this state of indifference that neutralizes my worrying nature…to getting this stupid and divine tranquility of the living…

Misery for misery, I prefer the ones not displayed in newspapers…

What could we do if we refuse to go forward, leaded as we are with all the boredom we constantly carry in living…? Sticking to our regular habits is the least annoying to our eternal boredom

It is useless to comprehend what is it to come back to a life of miseries, and the waiting, until we observe all those little people hoping to get  the promised pension, before they pass away. Like those suffering from tuberculosis when there were no cure for it: They believe they will surely get well after they receive the pension, no doubt about it…Pension is a cure it all…There is no urgency to getting well before pension time: To do what? Get back to the harsh useless work?

There come a time we talk less and less about what we desired the most…and if we are nudged to talk, it is with great effort. We abridge the story of our desires and wants…We don’t care to insist on the right and wrong.  All that we need is a little food, plenty of heat, and sleeping as much as we can, on this long and rough road of nothingness.

We lack this desire to invent new stories…We keep the griefs of the departed people who had left a little sunshine in our heart in our childhood…

Come a time we feel that we got old all of a sudden: We no longer get excited or interested in people’s stories and their worries.  It doesn’t matter how hard we pretend, the world has already left us before we vanish in the great darkness...

“Trip to the End of the Night” by Ferdinand Celine (Part 2)

This French book, published in the early 1930’s, is basically a collection of autobiographical stories of a freshly graduating physician in his mid thirties who established his “clinic” in a poor working neighborhood in the suburb of Paris.

Celine (pen name) used to be called to pay visit to patients after sundown, and his medical tour will last till dawn, from a poor patient to another dying girl aborting in the room of her parents, because the parents refused to send her to the hospital for face-saving…

Celine volunteered  in WWI,  was caught in the machinery and couldn’t get out, and was able to flee to the USA and worked at the noisy and boring Ford factories in Detroit. He returned to France and studied medicine.

The followings are excerpts, not of the stories, but of the kind of statements that the living among miseries bring up in our mind and emotions.

The biggest tiredness of the living is this tremendous effort invested in looking “reasonable”, along the decades of our growth: Everything is justified as long as we never exhibit ourselves, as we are: vile, foul, atrocious, absurd…This long nightmare of presenting this little universal ideal, superman during the day, this sub-man that we inherited, handicapped from birth in so many ways…

It is a good feeling when we land in an unknown city: We can lure ourselves that the people are much nicer. It is good to dream that we can spare a few hours in the public park, ogling the young girls…

I noticed that people have a vast reserve for love, plenty of it in reserve, genuinely pitying the handicapped, the blind…

The trouble is that love in reserve is never invested, not early enough, not ever: It is blocked inside, serving nothing and nobody…This kind of love in reserve dies slowly, and is reduced to nothing: Inflation of hatred, contempt, self deprecation exhaust all the initial wealth in love, bottled up inside…

It’s astonishing how hard it is to figure out what may render a person, more or less, agreeable to others.  We really want to be of service, to be favorable, but we keep mumbling and blubbering…The first uttered words, and we are swimming in the vast sea, unable to swim. Al the unconscious distract you as you approach the topic of being friendly…

Detritus do not increase or last: They are decomposed one way or another.  It is mankind who keeps defecting, urinating through his half-decomposed body, and exacerbate this mess with conversations that are half-cooked and ill expressed

Our torture is imprisoned in a body, characterized by a specific foul nauseating odor, a particular trademark of every individual, his signature…And our molecules keep their unrelenting navigation, to getting out of our body and rejoin this universe of infinity…

What’s life after all, but a bit of light that ends in the dark? Most of our adventures and undertakings that counts to our heart are done mainly in the dark of the night: Shameful endeavors that we think the others don’t know or have the secret, and the details of our dark maneuvers…

Fear never does reply by a Yes or a No. All that fear does is to gather what we are thinking, all that we say, everything we do…Fear just control our emotions and our actions, unknown to our conscious mind…

Relocating your business has a single advantage: The time it takes for your clients to discover the best way to harm you, you are already enjoying a tranquil relative break from people’s harm.  It is this short period that is the most agreeable in relocating your living.  The best tactic is turning over from one side to the other in your bed…


adonis49

adonis49

adonis49

October 2021
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