Albin Egger-Lienz, Detail of the "Sturm" Attack, 1925
Somehow I was thinking about the Fyodor Tyutchev’s poem “The Dull Flame Of Desire”, the poem that the great Alisa Freindlich is reading at the end of Tarkovsky’s Stalker.
Is there an energy comparable to the relentless sexual energy? When John Gray writes about “self” he treats it as a fictional invention, a byproduct of languages. I think a better metaphor might be actually what humans call the soul.
This self consumes almost all human energy. The self churns out the rationalization and justification. Every human being from a “soccer mom” to Hitler has to explain herself, how every action is for the good and justified. The ability of humans to constantly construct some narrative explanation is the most relentless force. The ordinary function of any civilization is to supply people with ready-made clichés to ease the access to the mythology of the petty evils. Today the function of the internet to clichés is what automobile is to travel. It speeds up the search and the manipulation of the ready constructs.
But there are two things every human being thinks about constantly – sex and the justification for their place under the sun. Only one of the constants is “natural”.
Люблю глаза твои, мой друг,
С игрой их пламенно-чудесной,
Когда их приподымешь вдруг
И, словно молнией небесной,
Окинешь бегло целый круг…
Но есть сильней очарованья:
Глаза, потупленные ниц
В минуты страстного лобзанья,
И сквозь опущенных ресниц
Угрюмый, тусклый огнь желанья
-Фёдор Тютчев
Further reading: