An Interconnected Series of Dreams and Novels

 I've often noticed that certain fictional characters assume a prominence never attained by the friends and acquaintances who talk and listen to us in visible, real life. And this make me fantasize about whether everything in the sum total of the world might not be an interconnected series of dreams and novels, like little boxes inside larger boxes that are inside yet larger ones, everything being a story made up of stories, like A Thousand and One Nights, unreally taking place in the never-ending night.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 285

As we've discussed, to understand Pessoa's The Book of Disquiet you really need to grasp his ceaseless and beautiful interiority. I think you also need to understand that, in a lot of ways, Pessoa is not quite certain that the external world exists. By this I don't mean in a surface-level and fairly witless Matrix version, but rather that the external world is so unimportant that it essentially doesn't exist. It's crass and it's ugly, but it's also so pointlessly bereft of meaning that it has no tangibility, intellectually or emotionally or philosophically or spiritually. Hence, when Pessoa identifies The Book of Disquiet as "a factless autobiography" he's not simply being typically weird, he's making a far more profound point. One of the reasons why biographies or autobiographies can be so unsatisfying and unproductive is because a listing of things that you did doesn't really tell me anything about you. I'm hoping to teach a class centered around The Book of Disquiet in the spring, and I'm going to start off by asking the students to write a couple pages autobiography, which I'll, utterly predictably, gently mock in class, following up on the point above that a chronicle of jobs you had or places you visited doesn't actually tell the reader much of anything about the subject. Of course, this also relates to the previous post about my growing sense of fear that I won't end up moving to Portugal, because, after all, the Ganges does run by the Rua dos Douradores. Would a new external existence in Portugal actually change anything, unless, of course, it helped me change myself internally.  With all this in mind, I think you could see why Pessoa proposes "an interconnected series of dreams and novels." If the external world is so gossamer fleeting in its significance, then the characters in a novel probably are more important than most of the people in my "actual" life.

A Partial Death

 Today, in one of the pointless and worthless daydreams that constitute a large part of my inner life, I imagined being forever free from the Rua dos Douradores, from Vasques my boss, from Moreira the head bookkeeper, from all the employees, from the delivery boy, the office boy and the cat. In my dream I experienced freedom, as if the South Seas had offered me marvelous islands to be discovered. It would all be repose, artistic achievements, the intellectual fulfilments of my being.

But even as I was imagining this, during my miniature midday holiday in a café, an unpleasant thought assaulted my dram: I realized I would feel regret. Yes, I say it as if confronted by the actual circumstance: I would feel regret. Vasques my boss, Moreira the head bookkeeper, Borges the cashier, all the young men, the cheerful boy who takes letters t the post office, the boy who makes deliveries, the gentle cat - all this has become part of my life. And I wouldn't be able to leave it without crying, without feeling that - like it or not - it was a part of me which would remain with all of them, and that to separate myself from them would be a partial death.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 7

Later in The Book of Disquiet, Pessoa reminds us that, "The Ganges passes by the Rua dos Douradores. All eras exist in this cramped room . . ." (text 420)  Lately, I've been thinking a lot about these two passages. Maybe it's becoming obvious to me that maybe I won't ever move to Portugal after I retire. It could be something as quotidian as my health: now that the Mayo Clinic has rejected my request for an appointment am I just going to slowly lose the ability to walk (or at least walk more than fifty yards) - and are my current heart problems going to be more than just a temporary annoyance and turn into something more truly dangerous or debilitating? Or maybe I'll just lose my courage (not that the previous issues doesn't impact this one) and I can't rally myself to face the challenge. Or, maybe, I'm starting to realize that I would miss this life, even my versions of Vasques and Moreira and the office boy.

Japanese Teacups

 "When one of my Japanese teacups is broken, I imagine that the real cause was not the careless hand of a maid but the anxieties of the figures inhabiting the the curves of the porcelain [missing text here]. Their grim decision to commit suicide doesn't shock me: they used the maid as one of us might use a gun. To know this (and with what precision I know it!) is to have gone beyond modern science."

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 416

I'm sure I shared the bizarre story of the time when I was in Omaha, Nebraska for a conference, which had to be something like thirty years ago. I was coming back from dinner when I found myself in front of an antique shop. Featured in the window were a couple old suitcases, sort of like the one that George Bailey received as a gift from Mr. Gower in It's a Wonderful Life. I remember feeling so sad, and it just seemed so unfair that suitcases which might have circled the globe were ending their days on a neglected side street in Omaha, Nebraska. At that moment an incredible desire came over me to smash the window of the shop and free the suitcases. Our ability, or at least my ability, to animate the inanimate - and probably inanimate the animate - never ceases to amaze me.

Meticulous Perfection of My Unwritten Verses

 I've undertaken every project imaginable. The Iliad composed by me had a structural logic in its organic linking of epodes such as Homer could never have achieved. The meticulous perfection of my unwritten verses makes Virgil's precision look sloppy and Milton's power slack. My allegorical satires surpassed all of Swift's in the symbolic exactitude of their rigorously interconnected particular. How many Horaces I've been?

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, Text 290

First off, obviously, I swiped this reference to Homer and Virgil for the epics book. It will live happily in the Conclusion, or maybe the Introduction, but either place it will shine even brighter cause of the dullness of my own prose. Pessoa is not talking smack here, but rather regretting the books that he never wrote. This may be the only thing that Fernando Pessoa I have in common: an inability to finish projects. Except, sadly, I make FP look energetic and focused by comparison. Why can't I finish my projects? They are queued up, one after the other, and sometimes I tell myself that maybe I shouldn't be that terrified by retirement because I'll finally be able to move on to a different and more profitable (intellectually if not financially) stage of my life. I could champion my lack of intelligence and talent, and this is unquestionably true. Or it could be a testament to my general laziness (while growing up, and I'm sure now, my father opined that I was the laziest man in the world), and there's truth in that. In the end, however, I suspect it's cowardice as much as anything. 

Happy Birthday Ali

 It is the birthday of this amazing young woman. I'm so happy that Ali is now a member of the family.

Yes, it's an old chestnut, but everyone should have someone in their life who looks at them like she is looking at my son.

Does Anyone Live in Lindoso?

 I was going back through my camera (which, oddly, has less pictures than I would have thought) in early preparation for November's Venice trip (and, well, my first round of papers for the semester arrived and everything is better than grading) and I came across this picture of the granaries from our first trip to Portugal in July 2022. It's funny to think that we weren't even married then. I definitely need to get back to Lindoso. There's definitely a horror story waiting to be written there.

I wonder when the vampires actually come out at night in Lindoso?

We Should All Be This Happy

 Over the weekend Gary and Ali got married. It was an extraordinary day, and even now my heart is almost too full to discuss it. At the very least, I'm not going to try and tackle it all together (although maybe down the road). So, expect a series of small glimpses. Here's a picture of the two of them sharing the traditional "you may kiss the bride moment," although there was little traditional about the moment. In a world that is so hateful and crass and materialistic, and, well, mostly awful, it's such a gift to witness a moment of sheer, unadulterated, pure joy.

Ali told me yesterday that she couldn't stop looking at this picture. It's rare I take a good picture, but, seriously, how could one mess this one up?

The Problem of Mollie

 Like all cat owners, it is useless to attempt to read when they expect attention. I was laying on the floor, because the vertical cat, Cici, was sitting in my chair, when Mollie, the horizontal cat, decided I was paying too much attention to the book. The beautiful thing here is that I was reading The Problem of Evil, which seemed to have a natural connection to an evil agent like a cat.

I interrupted her taking notes, which should probably worry me.

CFL Diva

 In one short month Kevin and I will be heading west, and meeting Andy who will be driving in from Michigan, for our CFL Doubleheader Event of Excellence. Clearly, if you're going to show up at the game you have to support your team. And while I have t-shirts for every one of the nine CFL teams, I didn't have any sweatshirts. And, well, no doubt it will be a little chili in Hamilton and Toronto in mid-October. 

I also have the Tiger-Cats equivalent. Essentially, I'll be a diva who will be changing outfits several times.

Just Empty Shadows

 Gods and men - they're all the same to me in the rampant confusion of unpredictable fate. They march through my dreams in this anonymous fourth-floor room, and they're no more to me than they were to those who believed in them. Idols of leery, wide-eyed Africans, animal deities of hinterland savages, the Egyptians'' personified symbols, luminous Greek divinities, stiff Roman gods, Mithras lord of the Sun and of emotion, Jesus lord of consequences and charity, various versions of the same Christ, new holy gods of new towns - all of them make up the funeral march (be it a pilgrimage or burial) of error and illusion. They all march, and behind them march the dreams that are just empty shadows cast on the ground but that the worst dreamers suppose are firmly planted there; pathetic concepts without body or soul - Liberty, Humanity, Happiness, a Better Future, Social Science - moving forward in the solitude of darkness like leaves dragged along by the train of a royal robe stolen by beggars. 

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 273

I think this is an especially brilliant passage, and there's a lot to unpack here. First off, I'm shamelessly stealing his reference to "luminous Greek divinities, stiff Roman gods," for my epics book. I've often proposed, and not originally, that the Greek gods were gods for the individual, while the Roman gods were more gods for the state (and you could more generally make the same argument about Greek vs. Roman heroes), so I guess it's not too surprising that Pessoa would refer to the Greeks gods as "luminous" or the Roman gods as "stiff." Of course, Pessoa is also talking about other "empty shadows" as well, including Liberty or Happiness or a Better Future, all of which "march through [Pessoa's] dreams in this anonymous fourth-flood room." I don't think I'm necessarily agreeing with Pessoa here, because we need dreams, even if they are "pathetic concepts without body or soul." Some people, mainly on the right, have been making fun of Kamala Harris's message of hope, but to me that's just a postured world weariness. Thucydides, when discussing the Peloponnesian War, reminded us how fear can warp the human soul. Trump both feeds off fear and also generates more fear, because it is a good marketing strategy, but this fear doesn't exist in a vacuum - I do think it is warping the soul of America. 

Bringing Down the System from the Inside

 One of the things that I love about our odd little corner of the world is that you really get brought (dragged?) into the local community. Beyond volunteering at cookouts or giving talks on Proust, there's always the opportunity to volunteer for local elections. This is not only a chore that is important, but it's one that gives me a lot of joy and a feeling of community.

Seriously, an Election Official - at least for the day - and clearly the vetting process is flawed.

I'm mainly trusted with opening envelopes, which both fits my skill set and is just about as much responsibility as I want now.

Gold Star

 And if I'm going to pass through the Midwest then, if at all possible, I need to swing by Cincinnati to see my old friend Dave. As always, we had a blast. We talked the long the first night that we missed closing time at Skyline Chili; fortunately, Gold Star was more dedicated to providing us with Chili Excellence.

I suppose I shouldn't post a story about heart issues and then include this picture a few slides later. Still, it was great chili - and much better company.

Nick and Eric

 Before the trip to Virginia, I made a trip to Indiana to spend some time with my father (a trip that I try to make twice a year) and the rest of my people. Fortunately, I was able to carve off some time to head up to Indianapolis, which allowed me to see my cousin Nick and my brother Eric. We had an absolutely wonderful time.

I could try and capture their conversation for  posterity, but it was every bit as nonsensical as I would have predicted. What struck me was how much they both look like their respective fathers.

Another Coop Cooking Season Come and Gone

 Most Fridays in July and August will find us grilling out at the Adamant Coop. The Friday night cookouts in the summer help us raise enough money to survive another long Vermont winter. Janet will also often serve as a Coordinator for a cookout, a task that happily is never handed to me. This past Friday was our last cookout of the season, which is both a relief and also somewhat melancholy.

Seriously, would you trust this woman to coordinate?

The Ali McGuirk hat is always prominently featured.

Across the street from the Coop, beautiful Sodom Pond (yes, that's the actual name).

The Books Always the Books

 I cannot complain about how many books my wife has because I'm always the one saying to her, "Why don't you let your husband buy you a couple books?" She readily, and happily, agrees.

Plus, well, I think this is a great picture of my lovely wife.

We were killing time before Sanford Zale's excellent birthday party (the high point of the social season), so a trip to the bookstore seemed essential.

The Devil's Own Language

Anyone who knows me is well aware of a couple things: I'm task-oriented and stubborn in my pursuit of said tasks. Today I marked my 900th straight day of Duolingo. Essentially, at this point I've finished their course on Portuguese, which was always of relatively iffy value because it's Brazilian and not Portuguese Portuguese. Most language programs follow this path, which, I guess if you consider the question mathematically, makes sense, as there are 215 million Brazilians and only 10 million Portuguese. Of course, there are many similarities, although they sound dramatically different. Still, I suppose I've learned a ton of words from the Duolingo site, so, even though I've technically completed their course and I'm just doing refresher lessons, I suppose it doesn't hurt me too much. I was tinkering around with Italian for a while, in preparation for our upcoming trip to Venice, but I think my brain (and my dreadful language skills) were not going to allow me to do anything else other than confuse myself by trying to learn a bit of both. I devote most of my time to Pimsleur, which has sixty total lessons for Iberian Portuguese. Once I blow through that I'm going to start an online course.

At this point I'm mainly just being stubborn.

Virginia Vacation

 And another nice shot from our recent trip down to Virginia to visit John and Jeanne. There was a bar across the street, literally, from their place. It featured a different food truck every night, and you purchased a personal restaurant credit card and went through a wall of taps to get exactly how much beer or wine you wanted. A bit pricey, but pretty cool - and I'm happy that it doesn't exist across the street from our cabin.

Happily, we still look like we're on our first date.

The Shining

 My great friend David, who is foolishly Chair of our By-Laws Committee, even more foolishly asked me to serve on said committee, and even more incalculably foolishly, I said yes. Over the past quarter century I'd hate to think how many times I've cycled in and out of the By-Laws Committee - probably as many times as I've cycled in and out of the Curriculum Committee (which I'm also on at the moment).

Naturally, this inspired an instant meme creation.

Bratty Sister

 Thankfully, not one of my bratty sisters for a change. Here's a picture of John Pocorobba's bratty little sister, Janet. On our trip to Virginia we stopped by Dairy Queen for a treat.

In between their father's death (along with two other deaths in the family) and their mother's declining health, it's been a challenging year for these two. Fortunately, they're a great team and they're dominating all their challenges.

Eventually

 With all of the health issues I've been fighting over the last three or four years, I guess it was inevitable that I'd end up with a minor heart scare. I've had some tightness in my chest and a little shortness of breath, but so far the tests aren't showing much of anything. I'm waiting to hear the results of an echocardiogram I had the other day, but I really don't feel too bad at all. I am, as my doctor will attest, the King of Imprecise Symptoms, so I suppose I shouldn't get my hopes up that they'll tell me anything specific. I'm also waiting to hear from the Mayo Clinic to see if they'll see me in regards to my mysterious leg ailments. So, this might be an eventful week on the health front.

Killing time in the UVM hospital ER, what a way to spend six hours the day before Janet and I were supposed to fly down to Virginia to see her brother's new place (happily, we were able to make the trip, and we had a great time).