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August 11, 2020 / Congau


Between the beginning and the conclusion there is a time when nothing happens. The play is dragging out and keeps repeating its initial points, becoming increasingly tedious and farcical. What is being said has already been stated many times, yet it can’t bring itself to silence for fear of its emptiness being revealed.

The interlude was a farce. The tragedy that occurred when history was first repeated, became ridiculous when it happened yet again and it was evident that no one had learned anything. The same mistakes were made. The actors went headlong into war and any moderately observant spectator could have seen and understood it. But there were no spectators, for everyone was a contemporary and a participant in the events, although of remote significance. Only when looking at it from afar, from the perspective of a disinterested spectator, can we grasp the meaning, or lack of it. Then we can laugh at it all, although weeping would have been more appropriate.

When we come nearer to our own time, we think we are approaching the conclusion, and our vision becomes blurred. What is, was meant to be, we think, and the nonsensical starts to make sense. 

The interlude of history got us to where we are, so although it was a farce, it was no more farcical than the present. We are now engaged in a struggle and we think it is important, more important than what ever was. The loud debates of yesteryear are forgotten. We don’t remember how enraged we were, but now we are angrier than ever and preparing for the final battle. Therefore we talk and keep talking, obscuring the line between words and noise. We keep going for fear of realizing the true meaning of what is going on. Better be silent then.

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