september, viii.

Lévy’s Sartre. I’ve been reading the book for a good three months now. Slowly. Savoring each chapter on its own, turning back the pages, re-reading. And every time I pick it up, I am impressed by his writing style over and over again.

“Death on the installment plan. I will hound you down even in your grave. The Spinoza-Voltaire-Sartre axis. The club, now full, of the greatly execrated.”

From Sartre to existentialism to Arab revolutions; then I circled around for a while and ended up with the origins of the Arab existentialism. Yoav Di-Capua is taking me places. I’ll start writing soon. I can feel it.

Since returning from Jaffa last November, I have not given up on the subject. I am reading through this list slowly but surely. I wish so would everyone else.

“Hasan squeezed another olive as if trying to pinch Ari’s words from the air where they hung like a betrayal.” Mornings in Jenin by Susan Abulhawa.

Scrambled eggs for breakfast, sunny-side-up for dinner.

I am still mourning Oliver. Dvi, tri riči feels like putting on an iron shirt and wearing it on purpose.

I water the oleander with an air of gratitude. We are almost the same age and we are from the same region.

Aurelius’ Meditations. I think I might watch the Roman Empire again.

I want to do something different. Something new. I started the list London vs Prague. And then I realized that it wasn’t a debate. No, not really.