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What draws me, or us, to history, archaeology, the past and so on? What kind of people are we to care and want to know about current affairs and past affairs…and anxiously now know after a decade how many of the predictions we’ve made have now horribly come true. Yet…warnings there are many, and many. The dismissal of history, of our epesteme as ‘one fucking thing after another’, where wars, famines, cruelty are consistently repeated despite our fiercest objections and warnings ultimately makes us feel powerless – and here is another old adage “Those who study history are doomed to watch it repeat itself”.  So, if it is doomed to be an inevitable cycling into the same death and disaster we witness over and over again, and again…there is cause to fatigue, despair. And I weep, truly I weep, at the reality that I witness, and consistant success of ‘human nature’ of violence and destruction…and not that of peace, and learning? How, can we, a handful after of human beings devoted to the past, with all of our different politics and views, which are in now way uniform, can hope to have such an aim. Quite the contrary, all views are encompassed, and let us field our wars in the ever-growing density of knowledge and conversations, rather than in the physical violence of our might. I feel its not too much to ask.


But this is where the error is, because archaeology is no mission to triumph over the minds and actions of those who would rather seek to wreak destruction on the peace-loving lifes of people around the world. Rather, I would see to improve the archives of human existence one mistake at a time, one project at a time as far and as long as my mental strenght will carry me – in the hope that these small acts will lead to small improvements, collectively to the improvement of everyone’s existence. A grain of sand to the mountain of la Science. Lastly, there is no call-to-arms. It is all my imagination, my will to fill my deep anxiety about a waste of precious time with useless information. I feel I would be better suited to mediocre poetry, or short stories. And so, before even launching into the exciting years ahead, I’ve already put myself at my deathbed, and imagining my final thoughts to be a heavy sigh of having spent too much time in tomes and not even feeling alive, with people I love. In truth, these books give me the satisfaction of ‘worthwhile’, while more and more, I just want to revel in the purposelessness of life.

When Archimedes ran out into the streets, naked, shouting “Eureka”, well, I hope to that one day. But in the meantime, here I am drawing huge circles with my mind, and please…don’t disturb them.


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