À la recherche du temps perdu

news from nowhere

Month: July, 2014

Il Barbieri de Siviglia

While I was randomly looking for a background music for the morning’s work, totally ignorant in music as I am, I discovered Rossini’s Il Barbieri de Siviglia. Since youtube suggested it to me, I thought it must be something quite famous and therefore would be quite nice for me to get acquainted with it and thereby increase my classical music vocabulary. After a few moments I realised that I actually knew this piece – in the good old days of audio story books in cassette tapes, procured at a nearby Watson’s (probably the only thing my mother bought us sparingly, after books), in which they related well known stories from the Grimms and Andersen and Perrault and the exotic lands of the Czar and the Sultan, always backed by a classical music soundtrack. (Now I think of it, the use of classical music may not so much be a vision in cultural education as in the practical and economical – classical musics are not protected by copyright.) Thereby, through the mechanics of classical conditioning, I came to unconsciously associate the stories with the music. Rossini’s Il Barbieri de Siviglia was probably the theme for Robin Hood, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 Cinderella or some other of Perrault’s tales. And those indeed were my golden classical days, now viewed through a rose coloured filter. Et in Arcadia ego. 


This is another important thing that I kept telling myself to write down but never did. 

The awakening of a dead feeling. Summoned by a (silly) story on television drama. I even cried when I watched today’s episode. And every time something inside me encouraged me to break the secret. Especially when there is nothing more to fear, now that so many years have passed and so many things gone forever. 

To be or not to be; that is the question. 

By this phrase, even so, I am thinking of someone. 


I keep reminding myself to write down something everyday, and I keep ignoring myself. 

Until today’s deep humiliation. 

I told myself that I would write something out of it. Not a diary, but something real. 

But even then I knew it would not come true. Because what I always do is to keep ignoring myself. 

So I have to write it down here now. Not so much that it becomes a diary entry, but a reminder that some feelings and thoughts, however fleetingly, passed through me today. 

I told myself I wanted to write a short story about Humiliation. 

A young person relating his/her own moral downfall and ultimate humiliation. 

I have no idea if I will ever get to write it. And even if one day I reread this and try to recall what it is I want to write, I shall not remember a thing because I did not put down any detail of the event. Because the humiliation is complete and the immensity of it overwhelms all power to write, all possibility of being transformed into words. 

But if there must be some hints, the keywords are: Kyoto, Bus.