Do not be comforted, you do not need to be comforted. *
Before consolation, lament and its infectiousness are viable models of reassurance and distraction, this side of promise and hope. It is said that activated energies in exceptional situations, without timely (!) and adequate discharge, cause permanent physical damage. There is no reliance on time, it has often been repeated: time does not heal wounds, so there is no time to lose! The too slow, and therefore the necessary art of keeping open the threat (sister of the wound, where else the need for consolation?), is dedicated to the upcoming work: THE TROST IS ALWAYS A WEAK ONE.
Spontaneous discharges take on mostly archaic forms. Does this art of delayed rebellion know a Mannerism? All the things left over. If the Lamento is too late, there is nothing left to do but to carry out a vocally restrained possibly deliberately manipulated discharge from a critical distance. As long as a body is still there. Those who have complained in time are ready to be comforted. The damaged and accumulated bodies perform, if they still can, a tough but intense lament just before the comfort. This is activism more than therapy! Contagious. So we can.
We will see. If not hear. Lament, critical.
Z) But he is not lighter than the silent sorrow. The lamentation is soothing only insofar as it tears the heart even more apart. Such grief does not demand consolation; he feeds on the feeling of being incorruptible. The lamentation springs from the need to irritate the wound again and again. *
Asked for consolation in New York? How do you process experiences that provide consolation? On the one hand, a series of photos was dedicated to the state of overwhelming lostness the view goes astray, skyward and downwards. The photos in turn are organized and arranged in a kind of script / plot (below). Since coping already takes place. On the other hand, things are needed to hold on to, new orientation, order, confidence. First branches, then their counterweight to prevent them from tipping over: remnants of civilizing activity. The result of the New York version of this practice in the picture on the right.
* Says The Starez in Dostoevsky’s Karamazov.