Start with the Simple

As you may know, next Sunday we are in for the referendum on whether to join the EU. The clamour is facinating and frightening: it's the every idiot's parrot talk these days.

Have you noticed just how dreary it is when your usual politician or journalist exhibit parts of their ready-made personalities? Since I have some radio experience, I can also vouch this is actually a case of some kind of self-censorship - apart from the possibility of being an utter uneducated fool, you're supposed somehow to air but ready-made and recognised patterns of speech.
(Not to get all wound up here, yesterday I watched a guy from Split on Croatian TV with some personality and the anchor asked the following question: "Is this why you did not succeed in politics?")

Anyway, at this early morning hour, I am in for finer things in life. The great phyisicist from England exclaimed the other day the greatest mystery for him were - women. And this was next taken over by just about any idiot in Croatia, taking now for granted there is no depth at all. The genius and the idiot thus may use exactly the same words - with exactly opposite meanings.

And what a mystery sex is! Located firmly between the fleshy odours and excretions and what one poet called the "flutter" of the soul, it seems we are forever locked in this game of being duped for what we want. If you are one of those who take things for granted, try, as the young Cullum says, "separating love and lust." Virtually, "whole novels" could be written about this - and they are.

Be this messy as it is, to feel it! To pause whatever that you are doing and to want to communicate with the person in question, already part of that human fate of daring to speak something meaningful at all. I once tried expressing this moment. But to get back to the beginning, I remember a comment by an elderly British woman when she first read Lawrence: "He certainly makes a lot of la-di-dah about it."

The clash between these two worlds is complete: with the la-di-dah ignoring the twists and turns, sometimes even laboured ones, the highbrow pole proves tolerance has always been in short supply - it early on proclaimed the unexamined life was "not worth living."

And this is where love gets redemptive. For, for example, with the sole purpose of expression and all things equal - you may fall for somebody who falls for football. Since it is fairly difficult to be something else, I'll comment in: "You can learn a lot."