Esnesnon 7-10-09

Hallo.

What a night. It wasn't what I expected nor deserved, I believe. The consequences are hitting me already, in a different form than the more commonplace hangover or any such a banal thing. I'm being struck with guilt. Yes, I am capable of feeling guilt. As a matter of fact, I feel guilty more often than I'd like (once a month or something) and when I feel guilty it's a rather bad case. My guilt isn't caused by others, but by myself. Nobody objected to my actions, everyone acted as I pleased and allowed me to, well, act on instinct. Even now, several people think I did nothing wrong; not only do they condone my actions but they encourage them. They have encouraged them and they my plans for the future are also approved of. Yet I feel guilty, and all of that comes from myself. I see my own mistakes better than anyone else I know. I can lie, or better said, I'm a master of falsehoods. Yet I'm not capable of fooling myself. If I wish to see the truth, as V said: I need only look into a mirror. I have only myself to blame for blaming myself for doing something nobody objected to. I guess I'm a twisted mind.

Rewind. Forsooth, this is quite a vague text. I'll attempt to clarify without giving away the slightest bit of information. After all, I feel rather guilty and would like to avoid the subject if possible. Not going to happen, I know. Well, I'd have to say it's all about Ireland, about the dream of Ireland. The land of Guinness, harps, catholics and wonderful golfing courses. Ireland was taken, invaded, out of purely selfish reasons. Ireland was oppressed. Perhaps it still is. I wonder, who feels guilty for what happened Ireland? Was there ever some Englishman who thought: 'Damn, I'm ashamed for what happened there.' And I don't mean he felt sorry for his country, for being an Englishman, perhaps I should just drop the Englishman-part at all. Could anyone without connection to Ireland have thought: 'I feel guilty,' of 'I should have acted otherwise.' Could one of the invaders have thought, in the act or later on: 'I'm not okay with this, I'm not okay with myself.' That would have been a silly thought. After all, what are you really talking about? Ireland is an island! Technically, it's just geography. It has a name for everyone's convenience, the people living on the island are aware they live on that island and they use the island as a reference point for their place in the world. Guinness is just a weird-tasting lukewarm brew made in that region, ancient Egyptians had harps too, catholics are really anywhere, damnit, and the golfing courses are again just geography. In this line of thought, every country and culture is hollow. But they aren't, are they? We as species happen to have human nature.

I dream of Ireland. The dream of Ireland can be translated into concrete forms like the climate and the nature, but those are rather banal things. If one would describe the dreamt Ireland by her appearance or her character, the true meaning would not be relayed. I believe it's called adaptation decay. Turn a book into a movie and you'll have to leave parts out. Turn a painting into a written story or a play into a statue, and you'll lose parts of the message. Writing about music won't do and won't impress one like the actual performance will. I can't describe the dreamt Ireland with the limited means of language. This leaves me alone to dream, and to feel guilty.

Hugo Maat.

Ps:
Par un dimanche au soir, vive l'amour!
Par un dimanche au soir, vive l'amour!
En m’en allant veiller vivons là pi vivons là,
En m’en allant veiller pi vivons là la liberté!