The Story of Unrequited Love

Breslev

Will leave it here, the story of unrequited love.

“Gershom Scholem, himself a minor poet, passionately loved Goethe and Hölderlin. Yet this passion was tempered by his desire that their lyricism perform the labor of Revelation. He found that labor superbly manifest in Walt Whitman, a later enthusiasm of the Jerusalem sage. Several times he told me that Whitman restored a kind of natural Kabbalah to a secular world. In many ways, Scholem confirmed my lifelong love for the poet who sang the song of himself and in so singing called his own godhood into being” - Harold Bloom.

You can shove Gulag and Shoa under the carpet, like Ramash did, but it is not going to change the fact of the hurban that is here every second. Even as we speak, it envelops us into a different reality. You can have Sephardim crowding around the Tzion or Reb Nachman, but it is not going to change the fact that Breslev civilization is gone. The civilization of Chabad is gone and there are not even people who remember it, the Rebbe made sure of it. Ramash to Chabad is what America to the western civilization, something new and fake.

Emasculated men, neighbors who are strangers, formal relationships that have no soul. Transactional, vindictive, slave humans.

I have written enough here. I don’t feel like I have a connection to any of the readers. We are literally from different worlds.

“Shelley, revolutionary agitator though he was, had something angelic in his complex nature. His best friend, Byron, said of him, after his death by drowning at the age of twenty-nine, that everyone else he knew seemed a beast compared with Shelley. Bitter in his judgments, Byron relented only in regard to Shelley, who returned his affection and esteem. Scorn, hatred, and fear were alien to Shelley, fierce as he could be toward the oppressors of mankind” - Harold Bloom.