Well, it’s that special day of the year again. The holiest of days. The day we celebrate the patron of alcohol enthusiasts, Saint Patrick.
So raise your whiskey glasses (my recommendation is Jameson 12 for those with deep pockets; Kilbeggan for those with shallow pockets), your Guinness pints, and wear green. Because tomorrow is all about soaking your brains in ethanol while listening to Irish folk songs, Irish punk rock (Thin Lizzy and Flogging Molly, for example) and other drinking songs.
(Also, remember when this blog used to have mathematical content? If you do, you’re not celebrating St. Patrick’s Day right, and you might want to consider another drink.)
Last night I posted a strange story about a gecko and a moth.
It occurred to me today that this is a very Kurtzian story, if we take the Brando interpretation of Mistah Kurtz (he dead) in Apocalypse Now! (the Redux version is one of my favorite movies, I guess). In the movie Harrison Ford plays a tape where Kurtz is describing a snail crawling along the straight edge of a razor, crawling slithering, this is his dream, this is his nightmare.
In my story, the gecko and the moth are us. We bite at those things which we cannot achieve, and we frantically fear the things we don’t know that cannot harm us. I guess that we can take something from the gecko and the moth. We can take that some people are like the gecko, trying to bite at what that isn’t there; and some people are the moth, raving about the demons that cannot harm them.
And maybe everything is just meaningless words, saturated with ethanol and choiceless thoughts. But then again, I didn’t have any choice of those.
Spring has begun in Israel.
Yesterday was the first day where you could say that the weather is characteristically spring; and today (as well tomorrow) we are expected for a daytime heatwave and a nighttime cold weather (e.g. Beer-Sheva is expecting a whopping 31 degrees centigrade during the day, and 13 during the night).
This means that all manners of animals start to come out from the winter hibernations. Moths are spreading their wings, and they flock to my window, to enjoy the light coming from the window. And with them comes out my “pet” gecko that lives in the cracks around the window and hunts down these various insects. I enjoyed last summer to watch this battle takes form and shape day after day. The gecko fought smaller and larger moths and sometimes flies, and once a mantis. It was great.
And in a most existential manner, the first prey that my gecko tried to hunt in this dawning spring is a moth which has lovely black patterns on its dull wings. But this one is different. The moth is inside the net, and the gecko is outside. So neither the gecko can eat the moth nor the moth can be harmed by the gecko. But of course the gecko tries to bite the empty air, where the moth would have stood (had it been outside the net), and the moth is flying frantically and when it does stand still it will do so with its wings closed to be less visible.
The gecko can never reach its prey, and the moth – despite being perfectly safe – still fears for its life. I am sure that there is something to be learned from this. I am sure that this allegory applies to a broader spectrum of lifeforms, and it includes our futile endeavors in this lifetime. Yes, I am pretty darn sure that this can be made into an Ingmar Bergman-esque story of futility and death.
And it all fits together rather nicely when I sit and examine the entire situation while saturating myself in Glenlivet 15.
(If the Coen Brothers are reading this, feel free to utilize this imagery in your next movie.)