July 2nd 2023
Once again I think I have committed many mistakes in my life. The most relevant one having developed the illusion that by depriving people of spiritualism, I could have better driven them towards fanaticism. The whole of France is rioting, but the uprising is born in one of the few environments of the country under the strong influence of religion. Not that Islam is far away from socialism and its adepts. It was so popular among black Americans who wanted to get rid of capitalism, with the awkward illusion that they could have been thus freed from racism and prejudices. On the contrary their race is now blamed, by its enemies, for strongly relying on social welfare. Islam was also beloved by those German intellectuals, or wannabes, who also sustained the national socialist mysticism. Their deal with the Mufti of Jerusalem was quite a remarkable one, however doomed to fail as much as most of their plans. This kind of Islam, that inspires the banlieues of France, is however a different one. It is made of the same rage ignited by the spirit of Versailles. Germans had been humiliated by the peace conditions. The Arab youth feels humiliated by the conditions required by social peace. Although I doubt that the French mod knows more about Islam than many nazi officers and slave descendants in the suburbs of any American Town. Perhaps Uncle Tom’s descendants are the best suited, among these three groups of people, to receive the word of God. Perhaps they are not so different from the Russian slaves whose souls were traded by Chichikov. After such a lot of reasoning, I understand that spiritualism and the understanding of the Book of the Lord would avoid rage and violence. I fI want to preserve this world, I thus need to give up my crusade against believers and become one of them.
The art dealer
I am still in Zurich, walking around the town. I am not totally enthusiastic about the current exhibitions, if not the permanent ones. The Kunsthaus offers a retrospective on the Islamic world and its influence on European culture. The subject has upset me, still remembering when Switzerland rejected the building concession of mosques, thus establishing a stop to the islamic conquest of Europe. Once again I need to restrain my blood and most intimate feelings, but act as a pragmatic gentleman. Most of my clients have got islamic background, yet they are good buyers. I cannot afford either to be too selective with my clientele. That is in the end the same spirit that drove the decision of the European ruling class, when it decided to give up the idea of war in the name of religion. Especially given the fact that our faith is fading away and the temple of the Lord is empty. If not in the four counties, where we still need to fight with the weapons in our hands for the sake of our ancestors. I do not know how long the truce will last. I can only trust in the leadership skills of the Government in London and in the division among Roman Catholics and Celts. However, politics is not my job, art is. Or actually the art market and the exhibition at the Kunsthaus could give me some good ideas to exploit while trying to convince my islamic best clients to make a purchase. My boss had already sealed a good component of his current fortune decades ago, when he managed to buy a portfolio of several drawings signed by Delacroix and executed during his travels in North Africa. I should not forget to give a look at the Baldessari’s exhibition as well. It is organized by a private gallery, perhaps a competitor, but I should recognize it is a brilliant coup. John Baldessari was a genius by himself, but also the gallerist who chose the subject “Food” should be gifted with a great IQ:
My company event had the only result to make me feel even more lonely than I actually am. I moved around the groups of drinks and standards without a proper purpose. In the best of cases, the point of conversation was how to be a woman in a business consultancy, how hardly I have been discriminated against and how bravely I gained my manager's medals. Others, far less caring about being politically correct, inquired about my marital status, but even in that case I doubt they were really interested. Without a project to work on I could only ask about others’ activities. Per se an excellent idea, that could have shown me a wide insight of the company opportunities. I am however so dissatisfied with myself that I was not in the mood to hunt for information either. I preferred to quit earlier, while my colleagues were at their fourth or even sixth Bierli and stroll around central Zurich at night. I went to the lakeside, paying attention to the ghost bicycles driving fast on the lanes shared with pedestrians. The Baur au Lac, with its beautiful park, was on my left side. The green was empty and the lights of the summer restaurant were already switched off. Not so far, on the square in front of the UBP and the ZKB, I am not sure whether it is still Burkliplatz, several people were dancing to the tunes of Astor Piazzolla. I decided to join them, keeping myself at enough distance not to get noticed and being at risk of getting invited. Observing their rhythmic movements relaxed me and almost gave me further courage. At a certain point I was even inspired to move back and rejoin the party, but I suppose that most of the consultants were wild enough to have already moved in the direction of the Langstrasse. I never entered a disco club in that area, I am too old for that and too clean as well. It was time to take the tram and reach for my door.