I got up early today, and I wrote a little paper for Sjani, a complit journal in Georgia. Yes, Georgia in the Caucasus. About Ali und Nino. It was supposed to be a relaxing little work, but I feel my bulk heavy, still. The paper is ponderous in style. I will perhaps improve it a little bit tomorrow. Anyway, here it is.
I made arrangements for France. I will stay in a spacious flat in Neuville-sur-Oise, gym, cleaning and fresh towels included in the price. There is RER, two supermarkets, a mosque, and even a lake to swim at a distance of less than 1 km.
My life is a permanent vacation. I stay in Lisbon now, I spend my days laying in front of Carmona columns on the river. The mimosas are in full blossom. And when this is over, I go to luxurious Neuville-sur-Oise, cleaning, gym and mosque included in the price. And in exchange of all this endless privilege, I am to write complit papers for the rest of my life.
There was a 19th-century poem in Portuguese, I think they even wrote it on azulejos in one of the metro stations here. How was it?
E se eu não morresse nunca, e eternamente
Buscasse e conseguisse a perfeição das coisas...
I've talked about a position of an ordinarius at the University of Warsaw, in 2021 or so. If the country is safe, and it would be a safety net. I give them less than 30% chance that they will actually offer me the job, but there is no harm in talking; at least I will see how exact are my predictions. As I said, I'm actually more hopeful about becoming an Oxford professor than gaining real influence and respect anywhere in Poland. But it hurts me little. Oxford is a nice little place, after all; it has a river just like Oise. I should accept it, embrace it. This is where complit essayists go.
Who knows, perhaps this vacation will actually never end. And I will live on and on and on upon my complit papers, sort of George Steiner. I remember this is what I wanted, that was my aspiration twenty-seven years ago, when I came to this city for the first time, in 1993. And my complit papers will flow and flow and flow, my English undulating, crisp and fresh and fast, on and on and on, just like Imam al-Ossi's Quranic recitation. I've built up a true attachment to it. It is truly my first language now. I might still make grammar mistakes, or simply built up some idiolectal traits of mine, but I don't care. I am in full possession of it, in full unity with it.