Fabrizio Ulivieri's Blog, page 97

The Plague We Live In (Part 6)

I remember the day Alvaro arrived at Vero Cafè. It was a November day, a rainy day, not cold though, in spite of being November. But the sky was covered and grey. The coffee shop was crowded, as usual, there was a cosy and warm atmosphere, in there.
I still recall those vivid images: us sitting at a table next to the big window, from which we could admire the large intersection, a crossroads of infinite traffic for noisy cars and colourful pedestrians.
I had an urgent gut feeling. How fast life was passing by.
Those days I had fallen in a deep state of dismay. Only she could mitigate my pain. She kissed me on the temple and stroked my hair to soothe my turbulence inside.
Without her, I would feel lost. I would be lost forever.
I felt as if I have been thrown into the Dostoevsky’s underground. I was in that underground, thrown in a corner, out of my life, excruciating myself for lack of real life. I felt that I lacked a sense of belonging to. I was a déraciné from that world. 
I lived in my underground with her. I loved watching her sleeping. I followed the features of her face while trying to find out who really was behind that beloved face. Who are you? Are you the person I think you are? What‘s behind you?
I perceived her face as an obstacle, an obstacle to the truth that I felt hidden behind the face I adored. An eternal and immutable truth, riddled with a matter that was-not-matter.One night I felt as if I were sleeping outside my body, as though a layer had been removed from me. And suddenly I looked at myself from above. I was there at a height of about two meters and I saw myself lying down.
Was I dead? Maybe, but I didn't feel like dead. I was just excited.
Was it all real?
I felt incredibly light. It was, however, a lightness that no human being can experience because we simply live stuck in bodies.
I wanted to look at my feet but couldn't find any feet. I then searched for my hands and did not even see the hands. Was I still experiencing something like being in a body that I was out of?
I remember being surrounded by incredible silence. An indescribable silence. A silence that we cannot perceive on earth in any way.
Then a door opened on my left side. It was not a door, it was like a door frame, and it was full of light. And that light had a different frequency than that on the earth. It was in no way comparable to sunlight.
I was attracted to the light and moved towards it. I moved slowly toward that source full of light. I heard a voice. A voice that said: Do you want to go? Do you really want to go?
It was just a voice. I saw nothing or nobody.
Do you really want to go? The voice repeated, for the third time. I thought of her, I looked at her lying in bed next to me. A force brought me back to my body at an incredible speed.
From that night a new consciousness took possession of my being. I realized that, we, humans are immortal. And what we experience as fear of death is only fear of immortality. We are beings made of consciousness and the universe we live in is pure consciousness, we belong to the universe as consciousness and we have the same greatness as that Consciousness. But the possibility of the infinite scares us.
We came to the existence in order to experience limitation and what it means for the conscience to be attached to, to be in need of, to love...we cannot be conscious of love without experiencing love within this very existence.
Challenging that grey November day Alvaro came in. He seemed to be a quiet, modest and serious person. He spoke aloud, in a baritone voice, and I remember that the Lithuanians close to our table appeared bothered by his tone. That morning I knew that he had arrived in Lithuania a few months ago, that he worked for an online newspaper.He had a strange way of looking. He seemed like one who was inspired by something which was beyond him and me and he knew what that was.

The Plague We Live In (Part 6)

Painting by Arrington de Dionyso

I started imagining that bestial impulse. It had certainly been bestial. Unstoppable. Impossible to bridle. 
There is a side of the human being which is pure beast. A man knows that side only when the fury fulfils the moment which is impossible to escape. And he knows it only after the act has been released, only after the act is out of him.
The same moment he spots the reason for the act, he realizes that the act has removed the reason.
That act has come from a side completely unknown, a bestial side. A side he had never experienced before.
I imagined it like a burst of an explosion, an overflood of evil and alien energy which possessed him, like a fit, a seizure of daemons.
I started wondering if he had any chance to be excused for his violence.
Why was I asking myself that? Wasn't immoral to find a way to justify rape?
I had no idea. Maybe a man's grief is brother to anyone's grief.
It had to be this the reason... 
In this sense he and the victim were alike.
Paradoxically, I was creating empathy towards the executioner rather than the victim.
But was he at least aware of his crime? Most of the insane acts are said to have been committed fairly consciously.
I believe, that only after ejaculation he experienced the depth of the abyss. In the very moment of that devilish seizure, he was unconscious.

When he caught the girl by her full, hard and fleshy buttocks he finally felt the pleasure of the beast inside satisfied by that embrace, he had desired for so long, For many days, weeks, and many months. He forgot everything about the world, he was absurdly lost at the centre of that iron grip, et vertatur in belvam.
He was 58 and she was 13. She had the body of a woman and the mind of a child. He possessed a woman but insulted and sullied a kid. Forever.
The day of atonement for his crime he knew would come. And it came brought to him by circumstances. The arrest, the sentence, the prison ... a life transfigured by a moment of uncontrolled madness, whose origin laid in two overly full and hard buttocks of a little girl who was already a woman.
And his life ended hanging from the bars of the cell, dangling from a belt stolen somewhere in the prison infirmary.
There are secrets which can’t be told. Secrets you don’t even permit yourself to be revealed to yourself. Now and then the conscience of a man can be trapped in a burden of heavy craziness. And it becomes unconfessable the unrestrained power and the reason for that folly. 
The death of Alvaro in prison, in the Lukiškių Kalėijimas, had been so unexpected.
The last days of his life I thought he had time to rethink about that flame igniting his tragedy, like a long needle between his legs.
He had been kept in a dungeon in the underground. It was a clear message that his existence had to be cancelled from the visible world. And he knew that it was true.

The Plague We Live In (Part 5)

But that avenue was without dignity. It stank of death and rotting acceptance, of dying civilization. Our conscience of human beings was taken away and hushed up by a new sense of inhumanity.
But she appeared immune to all that, as one can be immune to a virus. She floated in the new reality like she had floated in the past one.
Do you mind stopping here? I need an espresso. I asked her. We had gotten the traffic lights where Lukiškių aikštė ends. There was a small bar, a sort of garden shed bar with outdoor tables, where to buy good coffee. I thought that we could sit there and take off our masks, drink coffee and for a while delude ourselves in the sunlight. Like before.
People here are getting tired. They began to sue the government. Some opposition politicians finally begin to speak out. She shot plainly.
I think you need, you all people, you need to support these politicians. The interests of ordinary people like you and me can meet for a while their interests and vice-versa. You can walk together for a while. If they feel supported by people if they see consense grow around them they can dare more. I insisted.
People were passing by. Old people, young boys, beautiful girls, mothers with their little children. Workers... We were sitting down in that corner of the square and we felt as live as possible when the day that you feel the world falling apart has come.
Silly, I smiled.
You laugh?
Yes.
But why?
I can no longer distinguish between reality and lies.
Tikrai?
Taip. Mūsų pasaulis miręs. I said. But I was grasped by the heavy thought of somebody who has to alter the whole course of his life.
I felt censored and displaced.
I thought of Alvaro. And the day I met him. Many months ago.

The Plague We Live In (Part 4)

I knew that look, that light in her eyes. I knew the message. Don't trust! Trust me and not her. I am your truth.
I thought it was time to take her away from that place. But the face of the police officer seemed to say the contrary.
Was Alvaro a paedophile? Asked the police officer.
I dunno. I know what I read. When he spoke to me I never realized that hypothesis as possible.
Big problem paedophilia, a globalised problem. It's everywhere. And wherever there is power there is paedophilia, it seems a perversion that hits mostly the ruling classes. Rich people and politicians.
Do you think? How do you know that?
I sighed.
Do you remember that movie, Three Days of the Condor?
...Not really. What's about?
A complicated story. Anyway, I will try to make it shorter, the CIA is after Condor to kill him, Condor is a bookish CIA analyst, code-named "Condor". He works at the American Literary Historical Society in New York City, which is actually a clandestine CIA office. But there is a game inside the Agency and one day CIA  agents murder the Condor's colleagues in the office while Condor is out for lunch. CIA tries to kill him with every means but he predicts every CIA move and cannot be caught. Who the hell is Condor? What he did do in the Agency? Asks one of the Company. Condor reads, is the answer.
Oh I see...that's why...you read.I write books. I am one of the fewest writers who read books before writing, or while writing...I read tons of books.I watched her. I realized she was suffering. I felt like in Graham Greene's book, The Quiet American. "I was ready to answer any question if could bring the interview quickly and ambiguously to an end, so that I might tell her later, in private, away from a policeman's eyes and the hard office chairs and the bare globe, where the moths circled".What do you want to know more? I said to the police officer.Do you believe that he committed suicide while in prison?Should I doubt? I have not any other evidence...I hoped that you could give us more information. It seems that you can't.
Yes, I can't. I thought
And I was still repeating that while leaving the police building and finally breathing fresh air again outdoors.
Put on the mask, They will fine you. She said to me. I don't want to see that face any more. She added.
We took along Gedimino Prospektas towards the Cathedral.
The sun was illuminating our faces and we breathed hope again.

The Plague We Live In (Part 3)

From outside, beyond the window, we heard somebody yelling.
What's happening? I asked.
Today we arrested some people that were protesting in front of the Seima.
Really?
They adverse the lockdown....Sorry, I see that I am disappointing you.
What makes you believe that?
Your face. It looks like...They broke the law. What do you think? We are the police, What are we supposed to do?
What you did, I suppose.
Yes, That's what we have to do. Before, you said surprised. What do you mean with surprised?
What I mean with surprised...Try to imagine someone who, when he speaks, speaks as if he should speak in the face of God. Someone who is in constant dialogue with a truth that could be assimilated to a God. That was Alvaro. He seemed to lack of every form of imperious Self. But instead, it seems that he was obsessed by this the imperious Self...
Imperious Self?
It is a psychic energy harmful to the human being. It comes from the deep unconscious and goes back to consciousness and annihilates it. It does away with any ethical value that we believed right and just. It expresses itself in the form of violent, uncontrollable and wild impulses and pushes us to think only of ourselves of our own pleasure. It can be the hell when you are not capable to harness it. And maybe Alvaro couldn't.
I see, that you are a writer. She laughed.
Do you laugh?
Yes, of course. You are very cleaver.
Is that a valid reason to laugh?... Let me insist on this point...ethical principles are like a cover story.
What do you mean?
They let see you the dog in front of you, they scare you about the potential damage that that dog can do to you if it jumps on you, but they don' let you see the tiger which is behind you. Or I should say inside you...they don't let see you the big beast which is inside you. Is it clear now?
Hhhhmmm....interesting.
I become suspicious, Strangely, she seemed she had no aversion towards me. I looked cautiously at her, for she had touched my leg with her knee.
Don't trust this official. I read her look.


(Photo via Psychology Today)

The Plague We Live In (Part Two)

Listen, this is very serious. The tyrėja spoke well English. I glanced at her. I noticed she had a copy of Valdovas (The Prince) on his desk. It was strange. A policeman was reading Machiavelli? I didn't dare ask why she was interested in such a book.
It's a pity that I cannot read in Italian. She interposed. She had caught my reaction.
Why do you read Il Principe? I asked lastly.
Does it say so, in Italian?
Yes, Il Principe, Valdovas.
How nice it sounds in Italian. What a beautiful language is your language! She said fervently.
Do you think?
Yes, I think so...by the way... was Alvaro R. your friend? She shot abruptly.
Oh,..I see, I understand why I am here. Is this the reason?
It can be.
Not a friend, to be honest. A person, I met to chat with. Sometimes. That's all.
What were you talking about?
Life, God, politics...nonsense...
And you? O jūs?
Why do you ask her? Alvaro was possibly my friend, not hers.
Porą kartų su juo susitikau, bet jis nebuvo mano draugas.
When did you meet him last time? She addressed me, this time,
I dunno...difficult to say. Two months ago, maybe. Before all this absurdity started.
Which absurdity? She asked me vaguely.
The plague.
Is it an absurdity for you?
Of course.
So, you don't agree with the measures for the quarantine?
No.
Interesting.
O jūs?
Aš irgi.
Įdomu, labai įdomu. A perfect couple The tyrėja concluded.
We love each other, we understand each other. That's normal.
Supratau, I understand. Do you respect our quarantine?
Of course. I don't agree with it but I respect it. I am a guest in this land. I have never contested your laws, your rules, your politics. Your country welcomed me, It gave me a place where to live, I am grateful to Lithuania.
It sounds like you are a political refugee.
Sort of.
Sort of?
Yes. I felt forced to leave my country. I had to finally.
By what?
Hard to explain...but I felt like I was apart from that country, It had become an incomprehensible place for me. The skyline had changed, it was unrecognizable. Extraneous bodies had penetrated the social tissue. A casta is ruling it. I grew up in another country, and when I left my country it was not the place I hoped for when I was a boy.
And why did you come to Lithuania?
For love. And I watched her.
The tyrėja stopped. Right, she said. Of course...Do you know what Alvaro did?
Yes, I know. I read it. I was surprised.
Surprised?

The Plague We Live In (Part One)

I had to find a religion to measure my evil against. Evil has already gotten a strong tinge of cruelty. God was dead, Church was dead. The major part of us was so frail in front of such a fraud.
Once I used to write science-fiction novels. I stopped now. Reality is more interesting than science-fiction. I lost my job. I cannot any more write a book. I dunno how to plot a story, now. I am quiet, too quiet. I am thrilled, too thrilled. I cannot plot a story any longer. I am in a quagmire. I am dying in it.
I am pervasive. I am everywhere. Am I alive? I think so. I am not dead, ergo I am alive. This is the masterpiece of my life, now. A masterpiece of resonance.
I am going around on a new battlefield. A Purgatory which is worse than the Hell. But it's a bliss in the end. It's a bliss even though I don't believe in Heaven.
God is dead, Church is dead, there is no Pope. What times are we living? Are these the times of a New Church, of a New Order? Are these times those of Satan? Everywhere I see symbols of Satan. We are surrounded by Satan and Satanists. Where is the Pope? Where is the Protector of Christianity?
The Pope we have is not a Pope. It's Satan's emanation. A hologram.
Hell is empty all the devils are here.

My dead parents visit me every midnight. They invite me to go with them.
I can't. I say.
I can't. I have to wait.
I will follow you soon. I have something to fix before coming to you.

We are in a regime, an ancient regime.
It is still THEY, from the Babylon times, THAT rule the world. Maybe not. Maybe it has started many centuries before Babylon, when aliens came from other planets and created a race of slaves. US.
But I shouldn't say this. Censorship is watching us. Probably as I watch her sleeping. We are sleeping animals. We sleep the sleep they want us to sleep. They don't want us awake. As I don't want her awake. She's so perfectly beautiful while sleeping. We are so perfectly beautiful until we are a perfect example of domestication.
I close my eyes and see how we were before the nightmare fell down on us. When the mornings sounded like mornings and the nights brought the rest we needed.
She has tried to resist more than me. She tried to keep her days busy.
She has been stronger than me. I sought solace in her to resist. I cleared my doubts using her resistance.

Did your husband call you?
No, why do you ask?
I dunno. It just came to my mind, right now.
What?
That he could have called you.
What a strange thought.
Are strange times.
Yes, they are.

Then we heard someone knocking on the door.
Your mother? I asked.
No. It's not her knock.

She got up and went to the door. The door opened.
I saw the yellow striped gilets of the policija, du policininkai
Ieškome rašytojo. They said.
Aš esu, I responded from the chair where I was sitting.
Tu irgi, Said the policeman to her.
I startled. I put down a copy of The Quiet American by Graham Greene, I was reading.
Dėl ko? I asked.
Nežinau. Answered one of them. Turite eiti su mumis.

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