Today the noble soul of Pavel Perfil, writer, editor, literary stylist and critic has moved on from this earthly existence
. I was blessed to chat to Pavel Perfil at length a couple of months ago, well before the stroke which took him away, and had the honour of his presence at one of the launches of Testament. A superior and pure soul has gone. May he rest in peace.
“In Granada, in a caslte, sheltered from the rain and wind…”, thus started a poem of doubtful taste, recited with some gusto by the boys from my neighbourhood. I stop in time from the reproduction of the poem, as the rest is quite lewd, though in a somewhat more refined way from the run of the mill teenage ditties. And here we are, over 35 years since I last heard a recital of this poem, I find myself in Granada for the first time. I doubt that I shall meet either don Alfonso “Brebenel”, or Brohilda, the sad maiden with a perfect body, for whom he was pining, under the gaze of his dotting mother. She (Brohilda that is) had two eyes and a number of carefully described features – as do most girls, maidens or not. Though, and here is a value judgment on my part which invites trouble, those who remain maidens for a long time, might be a bit sadder, on average, which I am almost sure was the case with sad, big eyed (and not just…) Brohilda. But away from her and the love-struck don Alfonso, Granada, at least the part that matter, the central part, is a maze of narrow streets and old buildings, with nice caffes and and restaurants, and an amazing juxtaposition of medieval Christian and Moorish architecture. So far so good. But you can easily get lost and not find your way for a while. Not that it matters much, as wherever you turn there’s something interesting. I wish don Alfonso and Brohilda best of luck.
Facebook is asking me how am I feeling.
A trite or shallow question, if there’s one…
Does it really mean it? Is it even an IT? Maybe it’s a s/he?
Or am I perhaps missing something here… Something big:
Maybe the universe has decided to apply some kind of universal therapy
to all all of us? (internet users that is, as the rest do not matter
- and do not deserve to be acknowledged – I am doing it for
Simply rhetorical reasons, since they will not benefit from this therapeutic
Model called facebook.
But back to our question: facebook is asking me how am I feeling
On YOUR behalf! Were you even aware of it? I mean, at a deep level.
Stop. Think. For a minute, take it seriously. Or for two minutes, maybe.
Think about it: is it any wonder that you get bloomin’ annoyed at times with what people,
(Your “friends”) post?
You are asking them (through facebook’s universal
cosmic therapeutic interface) how they are feeling. And some of them chose to be…
…honest. To be themselves, authentic, that is. And this means, sometimes: to be stupid, self-centred, self-referencing,
codswallop ingurgitating bottom-feeders. Sometimes not.
In the end who’s responsible? You? Facebook?
For this therapeutic question, I mean: How are you feeling, Daniel?
Which neither (of you two – or is your number legion?) take seriously enough.
Next time I will tell you, and maybe Ms Facebook, how I really feel.
To some, the future’s worth the effort: to plan, to ponder to consider. Still, it will be here soon enough, and mostly not as we’ve predicted, or planned for. What will the young 2013 bring? Better, what have you done in its first 6 days? What are you doing NOW? As for me, I am lingering in the Catalunyan capital, pondering on Antoni Gaudi, Pablo Casals, Joan Miro, and the guy in Park Guell who was so amazing at plying his cymbal! A gypsy from Romania I reckon. Had quite a gathering around him; a true virtuoso. Unlike the sorry South Americans on the trains, who play some really silly rhythms, heavily backed up by some… well… back up system. Food, well… I am tapased out. But I am willing to try another pattisseria in Sarria.