For immediate attention

My dear Athena,

I address you today as I hope to fall on sympathetic ears with a fairly dubious matter.

As the guardian of wisdom, I am sure you agree that some things make more sense than others and that some don’t make sense at all. Still being the compulsive rationalist that you left behind last time we met, I tend to prefer the simple cases that can be justified and explained without cognitive compromises and pretexts.

Deductive reasoning has always been my walking stick, and paradoxically as well as logically it also is the spanner in my works.

“There are phenomena that can’t be explained” to me is no valid argument. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. The only phenomenon that leaves things unexplained is insufficient brain capacity. And I am sure you won’t argue with me about that. But if you do, please don’t expect me to be convinced. My opinion is firmly nailed to the grounds of my conception in this instance, and the only person that could make me change my mind is myself.

I must confess, however, that lately I have been under some self-induced pressure for failing to offer an explanation for a certain occurrence. Absurdly enough, I am not lacking an explanation for something nonsensical but for something that is extremely sensible. At least, or rather exclusively in an emotional respect (which might be the cause of the problem). This something simply feels right, it instinctively and intuitively makes sense – very clearly, although my reason holds at least ten counterarguments in each hand. But for some reason or another, my emotions prove to be more stubborn than usual. Or maybe they merely turned deaf in a state of shock as they won’t listen.

So I decided to resign for now and place my bet on you and your marvels.

Hoping that I won’t fall victim to the same fate as the little liked Cassandra and believing in your skills, let me do a desperate prediction. My emotions will soon come to senses, I prophesy. My emotions will soon fold and quit, I predict. My emotions will soon admit that they were mistaken. For it just doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense. It mustn't.

Since, really, how much sense does it make that a solar eclipse taints my sanity more than the innumerable days of sun? How much sense does it make that something became present inside myself so unnoticeably that it was able to hook itself deeply into the walls of my consciousness with barbs as strong as titanium? How much sense does it make that a lightweight dayfly leaves a deeper footprint on my affective membrane than a heavyweight ox? How much sense does it make that something makes so much sense without having any sense? How much sense does it make?

I shall await the favour of your reply and remain

Sincerely yours,

Kalliope

"Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,

We haul along the horse in solemn state;

Then place the dire portent within the tow'r.

Cassandar cried, and curs'd th'd unhappy hour;

Foretold our fate; but, by the god's decree,

All heard, and none believ'd the prophecy."

~ Aeneid 2.323, Virgil

Timeless for a Minute

When the car stops to let her cross the road, her face turns into one of wonder.

How come they see me? How come I am visible to the world outside when I am clearly and utterly so deep inside myself that even to me each movement of my body feels outright ridiculous? How come they see me when I don’t see me? My body carries myself deep within itself, I am the epitome of a human matryoshka, so why the fuck do you stop your car? The outer puppet has a see-through skin, has it not? The outer puppet has no shadow since the shadow has sought shelter inside itself. The puppet has no wings but a windup wheel on it’s transparent back. And when she moves her legs to cross the street, she can hear cogs clutter as they interlink and force the puppet to lift its feet off the pavement. Step by step. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc. Is it time’s callous hand

that operates the windup wheel? It shows no mercy, this nasty invention of time. Give me a rest, will you? Or treat yourself to one, just lay down for little while, put your feet up and relax. Give me some peace and leave me be, let me be timeless for a minute. Let me be invisible and stroll through the still of a frozen world.

As she turns around the corner and passes a café, the smell of frying fat crawls up her nose and triggers disgust and appetite at the same time.

How come I perceive smells? How come the scents and smells of the outside world reach my brain when my brain is buried under a heavy blanket of scruples?

How come I am hungry when I am fed up with myself, when my stomach is filled to the brim with my own shadow?

While her feet keep on carrying her through the evening that is far too bright for her taste, her overcast eyes catch an incurious glimpse of the grassy leafs of a plant that twitch and flinch hysterically in the exhaust air of a kitchen fan.

Poor thing. It has no chance but to flounce all day and pretend to be alive while clearly being condemned to extinction.

You see, dear Master of Hours and Moments, it’s not only me who is in need of a break. This inferior creature wouldn’t mind for sure to interrupt its morbid dance for a moment or two. Come on, make an effort and pause.

Behind yet another corner of the winding streets of a city that doesn’t need a name, she bumps into a man who is wearing a suit and a tie and feels compelled to curl his lips into a smile before he steps aside to let her escape from his murmured apology.

For goodness’ sake, I am not here, can’t you see it? I am not here! Temporarily unavailable. Invisible. Ignore me. See through me. Just for a day. One day. Invisible. Timeless. Mindless. Heartless. Bodiless. One day out of time’s reach. One day beyond the sphere of logic. One day in a world where one plus one equals zero. One day in a world where nobody blinks and breathes but me. One day. Just one day.

"For the myth is the foundation of life; it is the timeless schema, the pious formula into which life flows when it reproduces its traits out of the unconscious." ~ Thomas Mann