My “dead cat” – as the Italians say – phase has finally finished. It lasted three full weeks, during which I thoroughly and masochistically enjoyed every single touch of self-slaughter and, like a would-be catholic, whipped myself to ecstasy each night both in my dreams and awake. At the same time, I used to draw dead bodies and imagine to perpetrare selective massacres, feeding on hate and spite and living with nausea. Such a fucking waste of time. “So daddy, I’m finally through”.
Compassion: search for it in Kundera. Unluckily, I cannot cite it in Czech and cannot find everything he wrote about it, I’m sorry.
“For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one’s own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.”
Contempt: anger and disgust, an attitude of regarding someone as worthless. A feeling when contemplating something small, vile or cowardly.
These two sentiments are quite contrasting and I’m afraid that as soon as I’ve processed and digested them something will happen. In the meanwhile, I’m in a Jedi mood and everything around me is unbearably light.