Congratulations on 1937, Northern City Novels – Migjeni | Journals

Dear friend, I generally do not write greetings, neither for Christmas nor for Eid, nor for birthdays nor for any other holiday. I don’t write, why the wishes that the world makes in those days, I don’t know if they are fulfilled one percent because almost all of them come out of hypocrisy. The world knows this, but still continues to write congratulations. I didn’t wish anyone anything for New Motmot until now. But this time I have to join the ranks of correct people and wish my friends the New Year 1937.

First of all, I wish you sweet sleep, friend, so that you don’t hear how people rumble under the burden of their own crosses, go to Golgotha. Do not listen to the despair of the weak, nor the cry of the oppressed in this life. Not to hear the thunder of Spain. Sweet sleep! Not to hear how close to you it grinds tooth by tooth, from the cold. Why then should you ask: my tooth, why did you fight for a tooth and weave so much? The tongue instead of the tooth answers: why is it cold, sir, and when it’s cold, sir, hell enters the body, muscles, nerves, sir, and that’s how it goes tooth by tooth, sir. It is too banal to say that there is a lack of clothing and underwear and enthusiasm, hence: sweet sleep, dear friend.

Secondly, after the sweet sleep, I wish you – what is natural – to be happy, always happy. From great joy, to sentimentality, to kiss the floorboards and pillars, as Greta Garbo did in the movie “Queen Christina”, when she enjoyed the animal lover (I wanted to say divine, but it’s the same). We rejoice so much that the world envies them and says: oh, how happy they are! To be happy even though on the other hand your heart is pounding like a fool. Be happy, because your joy gives hope to others. In case the writing desk gives you a limp, you laughed. In the event that the only chair you have at home is a broken one and you have nowhere to sit, you laughed. In case you don’t have a fever or a cold, yes, you laughed. In the event that one day, in vain, you also lack bread, take it as a game, as a joke, and laugh, laugh. He goes out on the street, at the crossroads, and laugh, laugh, laugh, and the world will envy him and say: oh, how lucky he is! And when you come home and show the cause of your joy, the world will remember you and you will start laughing kikkikikakaka. The disease of laughter will spread among everyone and people like monkeys will jump up for joy… And so I wish that we spend the year 1937 in joy, even if it is pathologically sick.