“A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.”
~ Ecclesiastes (3:7-8)
Joel Bowman, with today’s Note From the End of the World: Buenos Aires, Argentina...
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”
So reads the ancient scripture, specifically the book of Ecclesiastes, said to be the words of Kohelet, son of David, king in Jerusalem.
“All well and good,” some readers may be saying to themselves, “But... which is it? A time to be born... or a time to die? A time to kill... or a time to heal? A time to mourn... or a time to dance?”
Individually, the answer probably depends on your own particular circumstances (spiritual inclinations... stage of life... marital status, etc.)
More generally speaking, it’s clearly a time for...both.
That is to say, as the world turns, so do the seasons. Which means those of us who call this pale blue dot home, even if only for want of present viable alternatives, must turn along with them.
Down here in the southern hemisphere, that downside-up half of the planet upon which a tenth of the world’s noisy souls clamor, today marks the official beginning of spring. For our friends up north, it is the transition from summer to fall.
And yet, as we head off in our opposite (albeit circumferentially common) directions, the equinox provides a rare moment of “equal night” (from the latin aequus: equal; and nox: night) all around the world.
We are “as one,” as it were, if only for a brief, cosmological instant. A fleeting, weekend reverie, for what it’s worth...
New Fiction
Meanwhile, down in the Paris of the South, we embarked this week on another kind of novel adventure... which is to say, we began work on another novel, our third.
Set in right here in Buenos Aires, and with a blind Borgesian bard as our guide, the story will take our reader through the city’s rich and layered history, from its Belle Époch inspired cafés and seedy tango milongas, through its dirty war past and on to the promise of a resplendent future.
Through a narrative medium, we aim to bring you another perspective of reality down here at the End of the World, no more untrue than anything you read in the popular presses. As the great French writer, Albert Camus, once said:
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Of course, we’ll need to do plenty of literary due diligence along the way... which means traipsing the city’s many historical barrios and visiting her myriad bares notables. So in addition to your regular Notes during the week, please expect more flâneuring videos from our temporary offices around the city over the coming weekends.
We hope you enjoy some private fiction to accompany all the public folly. Speaking of which, your archived columns are below...
[Nota Bene: Notes members can access digital copies of our first two novels, Morris, Alive AND Night Drew Her Sable Cloak in the Books tab on our Substack page.
If you’re an “old school” reader and prefer physical copies, consider the Founding Member plan (we’ll mail a pair of books to you directly) or check the titles out on Amazon.
We’ll let you know how we get on with the third novel... including a release date... when the time comes.
And now for your Notes From the End of the Week...
Final Notes…
The short clip above was taken in Parque Barrancas de Belgrano, in the well to do Belgrano barrio (suburb) of northern Buenos Aires. Designed in the late 19th century by a prominent French architect, Charles Thays, the park was a popular meeting spot for weekend picnics and even showcased public music and dance performances.
Over the years, as the fortunes of Argentina declined, the park fell into disrepair. Addicts and criminals lurked in the park’s lower embankments. Families stayed clear. The music went quiet.
In recent years, the park underwent an ambitious restoration project… eventually reopening to the sounds of the City Symphonic Band. Today, the families and the dancers are back… and so is the music.
Stay tuned for more Notes From the End of the World…
Cheers,
Joel
Turn, Turn, Turn