RANDOM ACT – RANDOM SCENE
Paris massacre floods the news.
Enter jihadi SKELETON, roams about on the stage that opened in my head, finding nobody to explode with. Meanwhile, my lover and I lie on the stage of reality, between the stillness of bedsheets and the rustle of bodies.
PATRIS – This is a failure of humanness, this massacre, this savagery. And it can only draw Chaos closer to us, it can only trigger new failures of humanness and new shouts against it. When the substance of absurdity is thickened by the blood of its victims, my darling, I’m afraid it undergoes one of its worst mutations – in some it causes hatred for particular people, in some for injustice. Extremists blow up to push the others to their own extremes. Very effectively. You already notice it, even on Facebook. Islamophobes bark against the sheltering of refugees, Muslims pair with humanitarians to blame the West for its selfish bias and its inequity.
A tender grip around my waist.
STEPPENWOLF – Don’t you consider they make a valid point, though?
PATRIS – I’m sure they aim to. But they will fail so long as they fail to acknowledge the absurdity inside themselves. They say, ok, pray for Paris, but let me seize the moment and remind you, egoistic bastards, that you didn’t pray for Baghdad or Beirut, for the Muslims who suffered the same terror – where was the coverage for their shredded innocents?
STEPPENWOLF – You could argue that such an event in the West will have a larger impact in the nearby areas, like a similar one in the Middle East will certainly be of greater concern to the locals – geography does play its role in psychological responses.
PATRIS – I do believe in geographies of the self. Mass media functions on them – most religions too. But idealism doesn’t. And while its quixotic adepts claim that their reasoning is a result of pluri-perspectivism, understanding, compassion and brotherly love, absurdity laughs at their blind urge to simplify human natures. It’s just impossible.
STEPPENWOLF – Yet you can’t really act otherwise, can you?
PATRIS – Probably. At least not in the macrocosm.
A brushing of the lips against soft skin.
PATRIS – But you also have the microcosm of yourself. If you don’t nourish it, there will be slips to extremes. And extremes can’t extinguish extremes.
In my head, on a stage about to be curtained, the jihadi SKELETON stumbles upon the stream of my ideas and proceeds to drinking it dry. But everything he swallows pours out of his open rib cage, every nourishing drop leaks back to its source, barely wetting his bones. Inhumanity is a thirst felt in emptiness. Wet bones are all it can get.
Patricia Beykrat – the Roving Aesthete