Time to leave!

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There is always a mad excitement when one books an international ticket !!!!!

Why I am not an Hindu

"I was not born a Hindu for the simple reason that my parents did not know they were Hindus. This does not means that I was born as a Muslim, a Christian, a Buddhist, a Sikh or a Parsee. My illiterate parents, who lived in a remote South Indian village did not know they belonged to any religion at all. People belong to a religion only when they know that they are part of that people who worship that God, when they go to those temples and take part in those rituals and festivals of that religion. My parents had only one identity and that was their caste: they were Kurumaas. Their festivals were local, their Gods and Goddess were local, and sometimes these were even specific to one village. No centralised religious symbols existed for them This does not mean that they were tribal. (...) They were integrated into the village economy, paid taxes to the village panchayat or to the state administration in whichever form the administration required (...) But they never paid a religion tax, something which all feudal religions normally demand Not only that, they never went to a temple in which they could meet villagers belonging to other castes. In fact, there was no temple were village people could meet on regular basis. (...)”. (p. 1)

This is the beginning of a book I have long loved, and that disappeared from my library some time ago and I finally found again.

Kancha Ilaiah, 1996, Why I am not an Hindu: a sudra critique of hindutva phylosophy, culture and poliical economy. Calcutta: Samya.

"[in our childhood] all of us, the Dalitbahujans of India, never heard the word 'Hindu'- not as a word, nor as a name of a culture, nor as the name of a religion. We heard about Turukoollu (Muslims), we heard about Kirastaanapoollu (Christians), we heard about Baapanoollu (Brahmins) and Koomatoollu (Banyas) spoken of as people who were different from us."

And this says a lot about what is usually referred to as 'belonging' and 'religion'....

...if I hear another idiotic presumptuous over branded young phd woman (with a repellent attitude for winging and self victimising) lecturing about a country where she has never been (at least with her whole body, if any) and definitely has never understood (at least with her quite inconspicuous little 'scientific' brain), just because of some grandma storytelling, a couple of cooking recipes and the wish to sell India as it were a product, as one she has every right to talk about because of her pretty, chronically smiling, brown face...I am going to scream! As well as for the lead years...there is noting worst that those who repent...there is nothing worst than those who re-sell their 'belonging' and their 'spirituality' whenever this can make ...an impression on someone"!

Ok, this is a rant!

Rumi - Childhood Friends

(...)
Give the beautiful ones mirrors,
and let them fall in love with themselves.
(...)
That way they polish their souls
and kindle remembering in others.
An empty mirror and your worst destructive habits,
when they are held up to each other,
that's when the real making begins.
(...)

About the last two weeks

.
.
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A peace maker often receives wounds

Yoruba saying

Howl's moving Castle

Another fantastic, magical, inspiring, great movie by Hayao Miyazaki


You can read the whole story here, if you want or, instead/after, read what I have seen in it, which is a completely different thing, or indeed the same!
As a matter of fact, tonight, I am tired of negotiating, of kayaking between reality and imagination, conjectures and dreams. I want to walk straight into my dreaming, my interpretations, just like the main character of this movie: Sophie.

Sophie: "A heart is a heavy burden"
For start, there is this moving castle, which is more than a house: it is the house of a wizard, a magician, like those of Deleuze. His castle is huge, like a little city, with different things going on in various places at the same time. Nevertheless, it moves on skinny legs.
When it arrives in a town, they all turns and marvel. It is so different that it is almost scary. Then it goes, to another town, and another, and travelling is often wearing, by his tiny legs, and difficult, like a real moving, re-adjusting, adapting.
And sometimes it inserts itself, reshaping its outside, into a line of regular houses: no one could recognise it as a different house, unless entering it.
When it leaves, it often leaves the outside in place: you open the front door and there is nothing inside, only the external walls and the roof.
It has a lot of appendixes, it is fully self sufficient, but when it is in a town, well inserted in a row of fine mansions, its inhabitant go out and shop, like normal people.
It has a fire always on, which hides the hearth of the owner of the castle, which is what moves the house, its engine/energy.
The castle has also a special door which is a portal to four different exits: to the present time, to a past time, or to a better time, or to a waste time.

That is a nomadic machine, a war machine. It is also me, I fully identify in that castle. If you have time, read again what I said about it and think of me, or any other nomadic machine. And really, I can exit myself only to present time, to memories, to desires and to waste (of myself and my time - dead time).
And the quote on top is because I often feel I have too skinny locomotion tools for such heavy burden.

But also the sentence refers to love. Hearth is also love.

Sophie is already a too serious adolescent, a professionist of hat making and runninga little shop, when she meets beauty, valiance and narcissism…and she falls in love with it. But she can’t be these things, she is already too serious. She feels she is too old inside, she is ‘too mature’ for her age.
So the witch of Waste (that is, dead time, self sabotage, fear of change, of risking, of not being able to be an adolescent like everyone else)…courses her She becomes as old as she feels. Or, simply, she becomes old. Maybe in the space of a minute (in the movie). Maybe in the space of a life. However, we find her at 90: dead time is really fast.

Moreover, beauty, valiance and narcissism that cannot be embodied by the puritan, over covered girl, appear through the body of a young man. So that loving them, getting them, is possible only through and only through association with the other (becoming is still a forbidden fruit).

Howl: I give up, I see no point in living if I can't be beautiful.

For her to get at beauty, valiance and narcissist there is only the chance of getting the beautiful, valiant and narcissist young man (Howl) as lover. Nevertheless, the young man is a womaniser, who definitely will have no interest in an old ninety year old woman.

Fear and a sensitive hearth, create conditions in which one self condemn oneself to impossibility, via burning a lot of time into dead land, into waste land.
Anyway, in the movie, just to be sure that we get the self sabotaging thing, Sophie (now 90) also introduces herself as a cleaner.

Sophie: Er, You can just call me Grandma Sophie. I'm your new cleaning lady. I just started work today.

The bottom line is reached fully

Sophie: "I've become quite cunning in my old age."

And this is quite sweet, really. Age has re-empowered this woman, and also given her, for free?, the feeling that there is not much to lose whatever she does. Which, in turn, means that she was first paralysed by the idea of making mistakes, of saying too much about her desire, but now…she can actually be herself :) and be cunning. And be intelligent. An old woman can be intelligent without destabilising the man she loves, isn’t it fascinating?

Our heroin, therefore, began to “do”. She throws herself in action, despite the pains of an old body threatening her.

First she moves away from an exploiting family.
Then she heads for waste land, where her love may be hidden (coz now is him to be wasting time and his life, do you get it? He later will say: I have been hiding for long time, avoiding doing in order to skip consequences)
Third she starts ‘fixing’: she turns upside down the often capsized scarecrow, she cleans the castle; she throws away the hair-colouring potion of the vane, narcissist Howl. She even manages his tantrum

Howl: "Sophie! You, you sabotaged me! Look! Look at what you've done to my hair! Look! Now I'm repulsive."

Actually, the first time he has the tantrum she runs away, because she is still focussed on herself. The second time she acknowledges that she needs to perform the helper, the mum, the granny. In this stage Sophie, as individual, does not exist anymore. Her needs are disappeared. She will not discuss a solution to her miseries anymore, for the whole movie from now.
While in the beginning she was the victim (of a male attack first and of the curse later), in the middle she finds herself among other victims and troubled people.

"You're cursed too? It seems like everyone in this family has problems "

Then, she does not exist anymore: all is about the weak, the fragile, the regressing to childhood, the injured, the almost dying…Howl, or someone else. Amazing path of ‘becoming woman’ eh?!?
But, wait, there is a final turn, wait for the conclusion.

And then there is the ‘becoming young’, which is peculiar, too. We never know, along the two hours of the movie, with which eyes we see.
Because at times she looks younger, but it is us seeing her so? Or we are seeing her through the eyes of Howl? Or are we seeing her so as a result of her being young in what she is specifically doing (dreaming, for example, of declaring her love, or fighting for her Howl) Then suddenly she grow old again, particularly when she dismisses love, or her chance to get some of it.

And who is Howl? We know he is vane, he is handsome but paranoiac about it, feeling always ‘not right’. We know he becomes a howl whenever he performs power, we know he is a womaniser who nevertheless is alone.

Markl: [Shadows begin to creep from walls] "He's calling the spirits of darkness... I saw him do this once before when a girl dumped him!"

In fact, he is not so successful and, more than spending time with women, he actually runs from them, compulsively. He is not aware of his compulsion, though, he sees always them to be wrong, tricking him while being secretly ugly, or very old, much older than what they declare, or much more powerful he can cope with.

Howl: She was once quite beautiful, so I decided to pursue her, then I realized she wasn't, so then, as usual, I ran away.

He is a misogynist but Sophie, as a declared old woman, does not scare him. He just doesn’t bother. Along the whole movie he never shows any loving attitude.

Howl: I'm such a big coward, all I do is hide. All of this magic is to keep everybody away. I can't stand how scared I am.

Maybe he offers some patriarchal protection, maybe some generosity with a hidden aim at being then rescued by the consequences of it. Sometimes he makes himself ridicoulous, sometimes is prod and valiant, sometimes a coward. He never stays still.

So, what is all this about Howls. It is that to be close to Howl makes the difference! It is his contagious beauty, and self cantered, slightly patronising attitude that creates a vortex of possibilities; of imagined, often real, happiness.
He mind a lot himself but, actually, lets the others be themselves, and engages with their being. He favours the becoming, that is his magic!

Once close to him, even a prince (turnip head) ends up being rejected.
Mr Right has become of no-interest, really. Even if he is such a good fellow. No vane, no patronising, no boastering attitude. Even if he has transformed himself from being a simulacra of a person into being a prince because of Sophie…Sophie rejects him.
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Sophie: It's been a pleasure meeting you, even if you are my least favorite vegetable. Take care, Turnip-head.

The fact is that she is not interested anymore in changing others, this is the great turn! She is strong enough to rollercoaster together with who is capable to change and to accept her changing!

Let’s recapitulate, then. First she is a victim, then she realises we all are and socialises, then she focuses on changing/helping others to change and be better off but in the end she finds the guts to choose ‘the changer’ as her partner, to choose who copes with her constant change, to choose change in itself. Change of age, of modes, of character, of home, of country, of friends, of appearances, hers or of others. And to leave wasteland forever. Howl is sometimes man, sometimes bird, he is a becomer who allows others to do the same.

Sophie does not want to become a wife and stay there, like her mum, obsessively trying to get at the best party in town. Sophie wants to become, that's it. To become beautiful, young, bit vane herself, mum of her little friend, daughter of the old witch, partner of the handsome Howl, healer of his heart, white aired/cunning despite her age. She just wants to become. And to play the eternal game of desiring something and trying to construct a way to realise it, to make it possible.

What a great movie!

Thanks :)

Desire produces Reality

If desire produces, its product is real. If desire is productive, it can be productive only in the real world and can produce only reality.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.26

The real is ...

Desire is the set of passive syntheses that engineer partial objects, flows, and bodies, and that function as units of production. The real is the end product, the result of the passive syntheses of desire as autoproduction of the unconscious.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.26

Desire does not lack its object

Desire does not lack anything; it does not lack its object. It is, rather, the subject that is missing in desire, or desire that lacks a fixed subject; there is no fixed subject unless there is repression.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.26

Desire and its objects

Desire and its object are one and the same thing: the machine, as a machine of a machine. Desire is a machine, and the object of desire is another machine connected to it. Hence the product is something removed or deducted from the process of producing: between the act of producing and the product, something becomes detached, thus giving the vagabond, nomad subject a residuum.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.26

The Being of Desire is the Real

The objective being of desire is the Real in and of itself.* There is no particular form of existence that can be labeled "psychic reality." As Marx notes, what exists in fact is not lack, but passion, as a "natural and sensuous object." Desire is not bolstered by needs, but rather the contrary; needs are derived from desire: they are counterproducts within the real that desire produces.

*Lacan's admirable theory of desire appears to us to have two poles: one related to "the object small a" as a desiring-machine, which defines desire in terms of a real production, thus going beyond both any idea of need and any idea of fantasy; and the other related to the "great Other" as a signifier, which reintroduces a certain notion of lack. In Serge Leclaire's article "La realite du desir" (Ch. 4, reference note 26), the oscillation between these two poles can be seen quite clearly."

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.26-27

Lack is a countereffect of Desire

Lack is a countereffect of desire; it is deposited, distributed, vacuolized within a real that is natural and social. Desire always remains in close touch with the conditions of objective existence; it embraces them and follows them, shifts when they shift, and does not outlive them. For that reason it so often becomes the desire to die, whereas need is a measure of the withdrawal of a subject that has lost its desire at the same time that it loses the passive syntheses of these conditions. This is precisely the significance of need as a search in a void: hunting about, trying to capture or become a parasite of passive syntheses in whatever vague world they may happen to exist in. It is no use saying: We are not green plants; we have long since been unable to synthesize chlorophyll, so it's necessary to eat....

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.27

Desire is to produce

Desire then becomes this abject fear of lacking something. But it should be noted that this is not a phrase uttered by the poor or the dispossessed. On the contrary, such people know that they are close to grass, almost akin to it, and that desire "needs" very few things-not those leftovers that chance to come their way, but the very things that are continually taken from them-and that what is missing is not things a subject feels the lack of somewhere deep down inside himself, but rather the objectivity of man, the objective being of man, for whom to desire is to produce, to produce within the realm of the real.

About Lack

We know very well where lack—and its subjective correlative—come from. Lack (manque) is created, planned, and organized in and through social production. It is counterproduced as a result of the pressure of antiproduction; the latter falls back on (se rabat sur) the forces of production and appropriates them. It is never primary; production is never organized on the basis of a pre-existing need or lack. It is lack that infiltrates itself, creates empty spaces of vacuoles, and propagates itself in accordance with the organization of an already existing organization of production. The deliberate creation of lack as a function of market economy is the art of a dominant class. This involves deliberately organizing wants and needs (manque) amid an abundance of production; making all of desire teeter and fall victim to the great fear of not having one’s needs satisfied; and making the object dependent upon a real production that is supposedly exterior to desire (the demands of rationality), while at the same time the production of desire is categorized as fantasy and nothing but fantasy.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.28

Waves

I didn't know this:
Kymatology, is the study of waves or wave motions!

Literature

For literature is like schizophrenia: a process and not a goal, a production and not an expression.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.133

What is Style?

That is what style is, or rather the absence of style - asyntactic, agrammatical: the moment when language is no longer defined by what is says, even less by what makes it a signifying thing, but by what causes it to move, to flow, and to explode - desire.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.133

The author

Yet it has been a long time since Engels demonstrated, already apropos of Balzac, how an author is great because he cannot prevent himself from tracing flows and causing them to circulate, flows that split asunder the catholic and despotic signifiers of his work, and that necessarily nourish a revolutionary machine on the horizon

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.133

I know you are there, somewhere
Just talk to me

An Antidiscipline

... the goal is to perceive and analyze the microbe-like operations proliferating within technocratic structures and deflecting their functioning by means of a multitude of 'tactics' articulated in the details of everyday life; contrary, in that the goal is not to amke clearer how the violence of order is transmuted into a disciplinary technology, but rather to bring to light the clandestine forms taken by the dispersed, tactical, and makeshift creativity of groups or individuals already caught in the nets of "discipline". Pushed to their ideal limits, these procedures and ruses of consumers compose the network of an antidiscipline...

Michel de Certeau. The Practice of Everyday Life, xiv

Body Without Organs or Love?

Extinguish my sight, and I can still see you;
plug up my ears, and I can still hear;
even without feet I can walk toward you,
and without mouth I can still implore.
Break off my arms, and I will hold you
with my heart as if it were a hand;
strangle my heart, and my brain will still throb;
and should you set fire to my brain,
I still can carry you with my blood.

Again Rilke, homage (licence pending) of a friend from Scotland.

Why I want to publish it here? I am not sure. Maybe sometimes it is healthy to look at intensity as it were the eyes of an angry feline. Straight in the middle of what it is possible, could happen, any moment.

And also, yes, the Body Without Organs that this one exposes. Yes, this is what it is, this is why I want it here. It is the body without organs, my way, a different way to render fight cub, a different way to discuss deterritorialisation, and machines. And to remind myself that, although I find more and more people telling me that they often like to inflict themselves pain as this makes them feel they are alive...I do not share this machine, I'll never do it. And if and when are others inflicting me pain...I really don't like it, and I do not appreciate it.

God Bless....

God Bless The Inventor of The Footnotes!

...and all those who spread the voice of such a wonderful way of managing the complexity of writing long chapters!

I am so excited by this feature, and how well it works at fixing mess, that I am thinking of using it also in my life! I just have thought of some few person I am going to put in the footnotes! hahaha!

S. and t. C.

Some relevant people along the way of my PhD wanted me to learn about the metaphor of the straw man; some others...about the one of the snowman.

However, the first suggested me to ask friends about it; the latter...where are the latter? oooops! melted!

P. O. N - A.A.

(...) 590
Certa tibi a nobis dabitur mensura bibendi;
officium praestent mensque pedesque suum.
Iurgia praecipue vino stimulata caveto,
et nimium faciles ad fera bella manus.
Occidit Eurytion stulte data vina bibendo.
Aptior est dulci mensa merumque ioco.
Si vox est, canta; si mollia brachia, salta;
et, quacumque dote placere, place.
Ebrietas ut vera nocet, sic ficta iuvabit:
fac titubet blaeso subdola lingua sono,
ut, quidquid facias dicasve protervius aequo,
credatur nimium causa fuisse merum.
Et "bene" dic "dominae, bene, cum quo dormiat illa";
sed male sit tacita mente precare viro.

What follows

What follow are few extracts from the Anti_Oedipus:

Oedipus
Production
Body without Organs
Desiring machines
Paranoiac-machine
Miraculating-machine
Celibate-machine

Celibate-machine

Let us borrow the term "celibate machine" to designate this machine that succeeds the paranoiac machine and the miraculating machine, forming a new alliance between the desiring-machines and the body without organs so as to give birth to a new humanity or a glorious organism. (...) a conjunctive synthesis of consummation in the form of a wonderstruck "So, that's what it was!"

the celibate machine first of all reveals the existence of a much older paranoiac machine, with its tortures, its dark shadows, its ancient Law. The celibate machine is not a paranoiac machine however (...) Even when it tortures or kills, it manifests something new and different, a solar force. (...) In the second place the transfiguration cannot be explained by the "miraculating" powers the machine possesses due to the inscription hidden inside it, though it in fact contains within itself the most impressive sort of inscriptions. A genuine consummation is achieved by the new machine, a pleasure that can rightly be called autoerotic, or rather automatic: the nuptial celebration of a new alliance, a new birth, a radiant ecstasy, as though the eroticism of the machine liberated other unlimited forces.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.17/18

The authors calls for a lot of examples of which I remember the Kafka's 'the penal colony' with its writing machine. But my own immagination goes to the missionaries of any kind, their celibate vision, the obsession with a purity that give them power and energy. And to the traditional figure of the phylosopher, who has to repress in order to consummate his marriage with cuture and knowledge.

Miraculating-machine

Paranoiac-machine

An apparent conflict arises between desiring-machines, and the body without organs.

(...)

Beneath its organs it senses there are larvae and loathsome worms, and a God at work messing it all up or strangling it by organising it

(...)

This is the real meaning of the paranoiac-machine: the desiring-machines attempting to break into the body without organs, and the body without organs repels them, since it experiences them as an over-all persecution apparatus.

(...)

The genesis of the machine lies precisely here; in the opposition of the process of production of the desiring-machines and the non productive stasis of the body without organs.

(...)

Projection enters the picture only secondarily, as does counter-investment, as the body without organs invests a counterinside or a counteroutside, in the form of a persecuting organ or some exterior agent of persecution. But in and of itself, the paranoiac machine is merely an avatar of the desiring-machine: it is a result of the relationship between the desiring-machine and the body without organs, and occurs when the latter can no longer tolerate these machines.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.9

Body without Organs/Desiring-Machines

Desiring-machines make us an organism; but at the very heart of this production, within the very production of this production, the body suffers from being organised in this way, from not having some other sort of organisation, or no organisation at all.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p. 7

We are of the opinion that what is ordinarily referred to as "primary repression" means precisely that: it is not a "countercathexis" but rather this repulsion of desiring-machines by the body without organs.

p.8

And desiring-machines are desires, productive desires.

About Production

Producing is always something "grafted onto" the product; and for that reason desiring-production is production of production, just as every machine is a machine connected to another machine.(...)

We cannot, we must notattempt to describe the schizoprenic object without relating it to the process of production.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.6

And this is what I intend to do also for the digital time object...and everything else...

enough with papamummy!

Oedipus presupposes a fantastic repression of desiring machines.

And why they are repressed? To what end? Is t really necessary or desirable to submit to such repression? And what means are to be used to accomplish this? What ought to go inside the Oedipal triangle, what sort of thing is required to construct it?...

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.3

Is it not more likely that Oepdipus is a requirement or a consequence of social reproduction, insofar as this latter aims at domesticating a genealogical form and content that are in every way intractable?

p.13

(And Oedipus is everything Oedipal: Oedipal mechanism, processes, structures)

"The satisfaction the handyman experiences when he plugs something into an electric socket or diverts a stream of water can scarcely be explained in terms of "playing mommy and daddy." or by the pleasure of violating a taboo. The rule of continually producing production, of grafting producing onto the product, is a characteristic of desiring-machines or of primary production: the production of production"

p.7

The picture is :Boy with Machine" by R. Lindner, as it appear in the beginning of Anti-Oedipus

Ha! The stroll!

A schizophrenic out for a walk is a better model than a neurotic lying on the analyst's couch. A breath of fresh air, a relationship with the outside world.

Deleuze, G & Guattari, F. 1982 [1972]. Anti-Oedipus. A Richard Seaver book/Viking Penguin Inc.: New York. p.2

Romantic, delusional

Dedicated to a friend of mine, who thinks I am an incurable romantic and that intensity, or sort of blind love, is a prerogative of delusional people. Maybe he is right, maybe not. Maybe we have to invent a language (and a literature) to talk of all these things in a different way. My point is that things have to be lived, because otherwise, they can only be lost. And when you live that which happens to you, there is no point in trying to orient it, limiting it, shape it. There is playdo for that. His point is that delusion and unhappiness have to be expected, once behaving this way. Which is a dry and nonetheless undeniable truth. To all this I would only add that romantics are also, often, horrible egoists: I am not sure if this moves the tongue of the scale on one of the sides. But another friend just posted me references to this book (see picture) and I am now wondering if it could be in any way related to this topic.

Time and men

Another amazing extract from the book I am translating (as I can :)

I met three men in my life. The first was stack in the past, fearful of any change, dead before time, emotioning only through memory, unable to deal with the events presenting to him, anxious just mentioning future or possibilities. (...)

The second was in love with change. In the lapse of few years we changed type of relationship at least 10 times. The present time was inessential for him, often skipped or lost while pointing to a future forcefully better than it. Past was all to be forgotten, or to be sad about, or be commiserate about it.

The third did no remember the past, as it was lacking any specialty or interesting memory, and the future was too complicated to be easily anticipated. The only time he had was the present, of instincts, stimuli and sleep. And the repetition of few general rules, assumed as valid since many generations.