I took two books with me that I’d meant to read on the plane. One was Parsifal by Peter Vansittart. This is what I found there:

“Hitherto, I have told Parsifal’s tale in traditional manner, careful to include tedious brothers dying in futile combat, incited by a father himself not very substantial, though replenishing the world’s sense of glamour. I have negotiated with degrees of truth, for Parsifal’s own witness was never impeccable and, at crucial events, was contradictory. Absolute truth is unlikely, often it is uninviting. A learned monk has written of history that some parts are satanic delusions, others are poetics, some are truthful, some merely appease folly.”

The other was a book of interviews with and essays and notes of the German film director Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Fassbinder says about the relationship of two men, one of whom spent four years in prison for killing his girlfriend with an eggbeater:

“I read it as the story of two men whose little bit of life on this earth is ruined because they don’t have the chance to get up the courage to recognize, let alone admit, that they like each other in an unusual way, love each other somehow, that something mysterious ties them to each other more closely than is generally considered suitable for men. Yet it’s by no means a question of something sexual between two people of the same gender. Franz and Reinhold are in no way homosexual – they don’t have problems in this area even in the broadest sense. Nothing points to that. I would argue that this has nothing to do with the bond between Franz and Reinhold. No, what exists between Franz and Reinhold is nothing more nor less than a pure love that society can’t touch. That means that’s all it really is. But of course both of them are creatures of society, and as such naturally not in a position to understand this love, simply to take it as it is, to become richer and happier from a love that in any case occurs far too seldom among human beings.”

Mr. Vansittart also wrote: “Driven to flight he deludes himself that he is the hunter,
does not hear his own cry of pain. When he digs into his own flesh, he is deluded that he gives himself pleasure.”

Sometimes I wonder if we understand what they mean. Sometimes I wonder if we wonder. Sometimes I don’t know which way to turn and I become quite.  .  .


About judyjablow123

In my youth I was a world class tournament golfer. I earned an MA in history at NYU, after which I knew I had had enough of academia. I have remained a student of history. I have a strongly personal - almost entirely negative- take on the contemporary pharmaceutical and mental health industries. That was the impetus for my Bluepolar blog, which will also include stuff on sports, history and anything else that strikes my interest.
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