Psychoanalysis Cyprus BIOBLOG

The message breezed in the phone’s screen with a soft sound and a vibration felt on his hand, a hehe with a smiley face of an almost idiotic happiness provoking an unendurable question on his mind in the form of a murmur, what is funny about it, he anticipated; the phone, incapable of delineating the murmuring on his head wrote only the reply to his girlfriend, why are you smiling, that is an emoticon my dear, she wrote back, yes I know, I have learned about these faces, there are other symbols too, trees, cars, currency signs, my question is why did you use this particular smiley face, I was serious and there was nothing funny to what I typed, my dear it was to show you that I am happy with what you said, you should do it when we are together, I am usually tired from work and until I see you we have no strength to speak, me too but I still want to talk to you and hug you, you are a man, you want to hold the woman, and you are a woman and you should let yourself to allow me to hold you, what is this, he continue as he saw another emoticon, it is a face that blushes because of what you wrote, but I am angry and what I wrote was not a compliment, oh, I thought it was, you thought wrongly because I should have used the angry emoticon or the very angry that becomes a devil, anyway this is stupid, we wrote an essay here because we had no time to speak, why don’t we call each other, I have work to do she said and there was silent on the man’s screen, his finger trebling from the here and there hyperactivity on the phone and a sudden back pain appeared as he was bending over the text with his whole being: he shouted, ah, ah, ah, three times, and then the diabolical thought emerged, perhaps deriving from that devil of the emoticons, that there is no face to express this trisyllabic utter ah ah ah. He had the idea of calling the company manufacturing the smartphones and let them know; this is what he will do tomorrow, first thing in the morning, but, before this act of faith for the mistaken gap in the language created with pictures and faces from the company’s leading scientists, he will search the internet, every possible search related to these new ways of communication with the OMG, Lol, and certainly the faces and signs- and after many and many hours of inquisitorial investigation, with that silent voice in his head urging him, come on, you can do it, do you think that Sherlock Holmes was better than you, perhaps he wasn’t, why are doubting yourself, I am not, It’s just difficult to examine these emoticons, It seems that you are becoming a looser again, again, what do you mean, when did I become a looser in the past, back then in high school, do you still remember that, yes it do, said the voice and burst into a laughter whist the devil of the emoticons became visible, manifested brilliantly from that hell of yellow faces to which people identify their expressions, none actually speaking or communicating, turning them into bodies following a code, patterns, to have sex, to go out, to work, without even realizing that the metamorphosis has already occurred: they are the emoticons. The devil’s laughter brought forth a nightmare and he woke up terrified; a mission of a paranoid nature, when one alone experiences the truth of a new dimension, was orienting his body: he stood up, glimpses to the firmament, and said, I will save mankind from this evil. He smashed his new phone with a hammer because he has discovered the wheel, once again, that this device did offer many services as promised, indeed, except what it was initially assembled for: to carry the voice afar.

The Syrian boy speaks in a language that is not his own because it was not received:

“Let me rest in peace because I have seen this confusion and turmoil around me, which the bigger ones called war, killing, leaving the country; for me there was a playground, a few toys, at least for a few moments. I have seen my father crying, my mother very worried and not because of what I would have called later in life as everyday worries, if I had the chance to experience these anxieties that the living people have. Let me rest in peace and you go and act, do something about it- I do not care who is to blame, do something about it because I would have liked to have a few meters of land to play, not even ten square meters; these I assume would have been enough so to have my mother’s hug and to wait for my father to return home from work and to see that look of his, because he could provide as a man. The only land I will have now is that thing they describe as grave and I have not even had a word for “Death” although it was all around me. These other men about us had guns and they were angry; they were like those monsters, like the jinnis I have known through the stories before I go to sleep, stories that my culture is full of, but these stories always included faithful heroes who have won these monsters and that is why I could go to sleep: in this evil fairytale of life there are only bad monsters and this is what makes them even more scary: even to this new land that my father wanted to take us to escape from these very strong sounds that these bombs and guns made- away from the even worst sounds, those of kids and women crying because some of these jinnis used the silence of knifes; still as they were and silent, they could make others shout and scream. Let me rest and I can only rest if you do something about it- and if I do not rest I will become a jinni myself. That is what keeps me awake because this is my greatest fear: I was born dead and I speak in the language that humans seem not to be capable of understanding.”

The young Syrian boy.

The boy threw the first eying on the colossal phantom, a giant- he was made of mud, in all odds a nonentity of double negation not to be compared with that divine mud by which God, integrating sand and saliva, has fashioned the protoplasts, the first one, Adam and not the madam as the word play has it. Between the giant’s toes he could play, the boy, within these obese extensions of a figure, brown and blue and with intentions not surely vicious; but a boy of this size and at this age perceives everything bigger, bigger, “Much much bigger” than himself as he used to sound in an echolalia, somehow scared of his own voice because a world, the world, is nothing more than a space of sensitivities and of a fantasy been repeated when these sensitivities have not faith to “A love without a name but not without a letter;” these were the boy’s words, and yet he played hide and seek with his gloomy shade flanked by the vacant seats of those corpulent toes- how erroneous is this statement: this, the misguided of this amusement and proclamation, the boy will determine alone much later in life, not during that time of his distraction because he was equipped with a sword, handmade and of good metal and embraced together, metal and flesh, by a strong handle suitable for a warrior or a knight without an armour besides his bravery and soul. He was not afraid of the creature’s size: he was heroic enough to encounter his nightmares, those sharpened and murdered into the, let us write, domain of the real world- that true and horrific actual horrendous liberty for those who still believe in myths of devotion and concern; and he was walking and running upon that small mournful prominence resembling a hill, from abaft which, in his dream, the giant has materialized his being but there was nothing excluding the sunlight darting invisible rays affecting one’s body, mostly at dawn or during the few moments of a dismal sunrise, and if this one in question was not a ghost; and the boy was not, not yet, a ghost- he will become one later when he will encounter the consecrated breath through which he will receive the map of the mission to use the spear of Longinus in opening living spaces for humanity, as part of his deal with one of the fairies who protected him- his own part of the symphonic covenant was to return his gift to the world.

Never, never; never had he saw the gigantic figure and yet he was always there, dust till dawn, with the sword at hand and ready for the challenge, until one day and moment the fairy called his name and posed the question why he was marching this same distance every single day when around him there were so many beauties of nature and of life, and most importantly herself, waving her being so many times in his passage akin to a fresh delightful inhalation: perhaps it was mandatory to eavesdrop his name, it is not certain, as of course the waves and duties of life; and the sword in hand was not stiff at the moment of the calling and not part of his hand, and his spirit calmed and became milder- the voice of the woman who knows how to whisper in the forests ought to have this affect on a man’s body and, from that incident and to the fore, he would seek this experience that he would forget for the times to come until the shadows will become fierce in the territories where he will choose to articulate the message, that which he will decode for those who have no bodies but can dance because they are twirling around the sceptre of the wind itself: he acknowledged, nevertheless, without any provocation and comparison and beyond any measurements of gallantry, that, although they were dancing they could not breathe not even a single phoneme and this is the reason they were unqualified of putting their bodies in the service of knighthood: as the boy did: “Slaves,” he mumbled, and tightened his weapon in his fingers once again until the next meeting with the fairy. And this is how he has killed the giant- by cognominating him a slave and deep inside him he had made a choice for bearing the cost of been a human: the Things of the domain of shadows command one to be courageous in order to love, to be fearless- this is the true birth of a hero: love is an act of bravery because it never redeems one from the angst of the cataclysm’s emptiness as it is cataclysm itself that forges one to tolerate its own love; this orientation is the one been initiated with the boy’s utterance as if in and within the chambers of a ominous mystery cult, and, from those sunlight hours frontwards, he would fade away in a long passage through the years and the Scene, in becoming the shade of himself, with, of course, disbursing the exact amount of the earth’s distance worth that each pilgrim has to pay: when it comes to these sort of expeditions, both Caesar and God ought to have their obols.