The Project

Written September 2010:

"Maximin, Maximin! Are you there? If you are, what about the project?"

Ah, yes, the project. Go to Bulgaria, live in a hija, and write down things. Indeed. I wasn't stupid at the time, so even though quite a few years have passed, it still sounds like a good idea. Yes, such a project. You see, Moraline thinks Europe is boring. Ah, but has he tried Eastern Europe? Well he may say so, but he has only experienced Central Europe. Ah, he might file a semantic restraining order, but I say there's a distinction. Bulgaria was far more wild west than the rest of Europe, and was especially so in 1998. I find it has many things in common with the place he seeks, Central and South America. I may have beat Moraline to it, as I think now. I may have already been there.

But this still doesn't mean that Moraline is living and I am dying. Because Moraline is living and I am dying, even as I may, if my hamstring doesn't snap, break 1:20 in the half marathon. Yes, how can a man die in such health? A man can die when his soul cannot breathe anymore. I have no air left, very little. I am a dead man despite the fact I can, with ease, run one mile in 5 minutes. A man my age. I am not a happy man. I say I sing happiness, but it is short lived. A project makes a happiness last. This is what Moraline has, and a man cannot kill or rob him of it. He is immortal now.

I have never been more happy than I have been in realizing these things. Men live and die. There is much empty space in the lives of many men, but there is plutonium density in the lives of others. Are there few of these men? It depends on the language game. The few men who have lived so many lives, amount to many men. But there are few men who can do this, so there aren't many of them.

"Maximin, are you a fake?"

No, actually, I'm not. I have some notes I have not shared yet:

Barcelona.
Girona
Banyuls de Mer
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