I’ll be damned if those stiff little fingers should not be inserted in the account book as ‘forever lost’. With the aforementioned thought-statement, our friend K. would open the refrigerator door, heart in his hands, sternly bored, and nod to himself like there’s no tomorrow. Acceptance of your own hazard-free life is not the job here, he thought once again. No threat to life, no threat to health, no tongue-in-cheek speech nor ludicrous dictum at hand when someone dies and you’re the next-in-queue non-German scholar who’ll have to say something, for crying out loud. The Begründung for this awkward situation was some kind of paradox. The girl in question, who happens to be mentioned just when all his thought-readers were already skipping class, I mean turning the page, is someone called whatever you like but who’d disappear when you most needed her, drowning on the bayou: when things got nasty, she’d just send a note, “I’m going”, “I’m out”, because your anxiety, K.’s anxiety sort of made a bad impression on her, like “please talk to me” meaning “hold on to me” meaning “let me down”. And then the worst outcome was the outcome of her choice: the I-do-love-you-but-please-begone outcome. The paradox could be summarized as follows: the bad-asser his longing to see her, the more irresistible the desire thereof of walking away. The reason is even more paradoxical in nature: her walking away was for the sake of love, because it was very painful for her to let him down by not wanting to see him right now; the pain would make her sad, and she would go astray as a means of procrastination.
Good news for K. this morning. He woke up to find her standing beside him apologizing for being late and just tethering around for so long. Hands so sweet, imperceptible sounds of her bouncing around the room fixing him a drink or classifying books or organizing his overall messy things. From this time on, the walkaway paradox was gone and stood on his own grounds as a OED-recollection, a valuable item belonging to his set-theoretic topological no-hurry-to-forget memorabilia. When all this mess is subject of recall, we’ll be sharing the same room, she said. I was afraid of, you know, this so-called sacciferous boredom. I was wrong. My father never got over her wife because they loved to be stiffly bored together. When she was gone, he developed this lasting neurosis out of regret (a life of loving boredom).
I want to be bored with you.
I want to be bored with you as well.
(A mysterious sound of love under will is heard, ov FINISHED FILES everlasting love betwēox K. and her).
God told the story from the beginning and he saw stuff pretty clearly, quoting unquoting Boetius’s De consolatione philosophiae: “eternity is the simultaneously whole and perfect possession of interminable life”. God said that in Latin, because Latin is stuff even Thrones & Dominations can understand and commit to memory and even vorlesen to their Metaphysics professor when they get to college. Or just for the heck of it.
God said also (and we’re pleased to provide the reader with a sound and accessible English translation): “As we attain to the knowledge of simple things by way of compound things, man, so must we reach to the knowledge of eternity by means of time, which is nothing but the numbering of movement by ‘before’ and ‘aftah’, man. For since succession, man, occurs in every movement, man, and one part comes aftah another, the fact that we reckon before and aftah in movement makes us apprehend time, get it, man?, which is nothing else but the measure of before and aftah in movement. Now in a thing bereft of movement, y’ know what I’m saying?, which is always the same, there is no before or aftah. As therefore the idea of time consists in the numbering of before and aftah in movement; so likewise in the apprehension of the uniformity, man, of what is outside of movement, consists the idea of eternity. Duh, obviously”.
As I was saying, God see things pretty clearly, being, as nicely depicted by Luther, a retired rhyparographer who tends to shout poenitenziagite to the passersby just to scare the shit out of them. He saw -and now we’re almost done- they were not bored. They were prepared for boredom, which is a thing kung-fu coaches say all the time (no, God ain’t no depressed kung-fu instructor), and that was the only stuff they needed at the time: a cigarette lighter, books with an attitude and love under will.