I can not crack a beer open because I do not have one in my possession. I could go and buy a beer, but I am home now. It is late, and tomorrow I have work. I drink milk tea and eat a sweet red bean bun as I contemplate the fact that this entry won’t be called “Notes on a Summer’s Evening.” It won’t have the same rhythm and pacing. It will be distinct. This time around, I am somewhere thousands of miles away from where I was then, and it is in fact spring. To be linguistic rather than concrete, the air is mushiatsui [蒸し暑い], mushi meaning steaming on it’s own combined with atsui for hot. Mushi [蒸し] should not to be mistaken for its homophones of selfless [無私], insect [ 虫], or the remote beginnings of things [無始]. In reality, this is where all things spring forth from. I know that historically speaking I can expect the temperature to rise slowly. I can expect the air to feel fully saturated with water, and I can look forward to the pouring rain showers because it’s going to rain and rain and rain for days. In the mountains and road sides, greenery springs forth. I went to a park the other day, and frogs sprung off the path shrieking as they plunged into the nearby pond.
I recall wanting to explore Nietzsche last year. He and I only got a few evenings in before I took on company that liked to quote him while both forlornly and or joyously stoking a fire off in the mountains.
This time around I’ve been spending time with Lepold von Sacher-Masoch. To be perfectly honest, I had never thought I’d heard his name before but the title of his book jumped out to me from a library of classics. Venus in Furs. A book that is slowly revealing it’s interesting temperaments from a somewhat droll start. I am near to completing the read. Sacher-Masoch, I learned, is the namesake from which the beloved term Masochism springs, not only because this particular book explores the psyche of masochism, but because Masoch himself embodied the traits of the condition in his day to day life.
I had a point about that. What it was, I know not. I’ve been watching a TV series in which the main characters are being driven apart by a powerful woman who likes to wear dark furs, and in turn of drama, the lovers are not so often displayed as kind to one another.
It is as if this show is designed as a tribute to Venus in Furs. I imagine that I will begin to notice this motif in more and more places. A new archetype is realized in my mind for better or for worse.
There is really nothing much else to say for the moment.