The more honest you become with yourself, the less honest you can be with others, because you the more you sound like a nutcase.
Wheeee
I love my bycicle, it’s so worn and loyal. Getting rusty, and it’s a couple notches too big for my size which makes stopping and restarting a hassle and the front brake’s busted.
I daydream about getting straight out rammed by a monstrous car (then again what car isn’t a monster? Is there something uglier and more insulting than concrete?), a mangled bloody mess of broken nerves and metal lying on the pavement, a brainwave sliced by a cog.
An acrobatic improbable tumble where a pedal would somehow crack open my skull. Â I find the idea romantic.
Cities are prisons for they trap us in the mirror of each other’s mediocrities. A true wanderer can’t be offended for the only way for an insult to work is to have a captive audience. When leaving is always an option any place is good.
Which is why wandering is forbidden.
Among other reasons, has more to do with time actually.
Tourism is to wandering what a slit throat is to a genuine smile.
I genuinely wonder why I just don’t up and leave, to live up my hoboesque fantasies till starvation gets the best of me. I have nothing to lose and certainly nothing to gain.
Fear of embarrasment is the most powerful human emotion. People rather live an unhappy life than risk humiliation. Very sad.
Here’s some more cheer for you all:
“He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others–the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.†( Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated)
Yipee.
6 comments
I love the way you write!
@ The Absurdist; Still in the gray city filled with gray people? It’s been awhile, hope you’re doing ok.
@Hey dood.
Nah, I’m in Canada, Montreal specifically, now. It blows and is a monstrosity, as all cities, but I guess it is an improvement, at least there’s some trees and space here. On the other hand unlike in Paris I have no friends here and know nobody, and the chances of that changing are as ridiculously low as usual, so it all evens out in misery.
How are you? What you’ve been doing?
Hey bro; I’m in a different time zone from the last time we spoke. Different job, sold the motorcycle, working, blah blah blah. I was just reading some of your old posts right now. You’ve left quite the legacy.
Canada? Good for you. You’ve got my email now, feel free to bother me if you’d like to.
Holy shit, my old posts! Don’t remind me, I don’t even want to look at that. Did I really post 26 times?! What a disgrace. Even though I don’t feel fundamentally different from back then, can’t help but feel a sense of detachment from it, and a twinge of contempt for what I wrote, such as “was I ever so whiny?” or “was I really trying to be witty with that?”. Bleh
Maybe I’ll write to you during the week as soon as I think of something more compelling that my life sucks and ah love my bycicle.
You know what you should do man? Join an anarchist group.
Take care man.
@ The Absurdist; Sir, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re one of the good ones.