Existentialism - the fight for a passionate and authentic life in spite of boredom, despair, angst and alienation. And now, in our age - in spite of the technological e-crop rotation that hypnotizes us all. No baggage. When did this journey into my own meaning start? And did I live in such a way that was passionate and sincere; or dare I say authentic? I am not entirely sure... I know when I look at the back of my hands I must be about 40 years old, for the wear and tear on them serve as indicators of marked time. No watch on my writs or in my pocket and certainly no iPhone to keep me "up to date." I prefer to live in time out of mind. Some might call this madness but I find it the most edifying, and as evidence of my edification I will recount my adventures.
Now then, where did all this start. I suppose it started in Mexico, when I had a house where I raised a boy alone, named Adam. No No No. That is all wrong, time out of mind can do this, my boy's name was Jim. Young Jim was seven when he died. I did what had to be done, and I burned the house to the ground. I covered Jim's room in gasoline a light it with a kitchen safe match from a cupboard over the sink. I went outside to urinate and by the time I finished, the whole hose was in blazes and I watched it burn to the ground. No more baggage, I thought, and moved with my small possessions of a Led Zepplin T shirt, Linkin Park hoodie, and Levies jeans with the one key I needed, the one to my car. One might say that this is when the madness started, but I don't really see it that way at all; it's hard to describe exactly how I see it. Now watching my house burn, I couldn't help but contemplate the notion that while it burned it was uninhabitable yet, was in a manner of speaking still a house. I guess I did not notice the house, so much as the remains of the house.
Here I should compose a list of where else I have been if only for my own edification.
In my car with one key and a small number of clothes I traveled from city to city getting library books past the security bars by tossing them up in the air as I walked out the door. I found that reading was spiritually up building, but brought way too much baggage with it. As for living situation I lived inside museums and burned the artwork within as warmth. Living in museums, traveling by car to various historical places of known artists and philosophers, Polluck John Dewey and Diane Arbus. Staying warm by burning the art in which they created. Limiting baggage to the bare minimum. Reading stolen plays like Sophocles "The Clouds" aloud and after reading a page tearing it out and burning it in a fire. Turing ancient drama into smoke while it rises to the highest reaches of the earthly sky. From Mexico, I traveled across the U.S. stopping at various museums to burn works of art and stay warm. I headed towards Alaska, where I would begin to travel across Russia by baring land bridge. Passing through areas like Russia and referencing Dostoevsky, though not speaking or reading a word of Russian. Trapped in an anglo-saxon sliver of existence. Provided much angst and anxiety, but relieved by the traveling by sunlight, as all the road signs were irrelevant, only needing the rising and setting sun to guide the car through Russia onward.
My travel with one key and books that would be destroyed on consumption lead me to a great number of places. Visiting the graves of Achilles and thinking of Helen of troy, living without baggage, basking in the sun on the Uffitzi. Walking through the home of Shakespeare, where his family spent most of their time as he was off writing plays to support their living. Burning logs in fireplaces, like artwork, much like the family of Shakespeare, waiting for the return of the care giver and creator of genius plays, none of which can be truly appreciated without performance or at least recitation. Text as baggage. Upon my travels reading books upon books about the same war, but inventing one's own stories in the imagination of the depths of the minds recesses, fanciful new version for private improvisations. While involving one's self in the fantasies, unable to forget the image of Hannibal crossing the alps, as a dark looming storm of loneliness and inevitable death kept toward oneself while venturing onward to the glory of dedicated travel. Yet none of this troubles me so much, more focused on the visiting of these famous birth places of Kierkegaard, Nietzsche and even Old Kant. However, I must admit, that as I read their texts, especially Beyond Good and Evil, every new page read would be immediately thrown out, ripped right off the spine of the book. Death to all baggage, experience is the true knowledge well. A posterior's supremacy over the a priori.
This brings me to the beginning and to the end of my story, where before I left my burning house behind when standing in the street I was almost run over by a car with no driver at the wheel, as it rolled down the hill. Now don't worry there was an obvious explanation for this, as it was the hill I stood at the bottom of, waiting for impact but dodging at the last minute to go on my adventures.
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I've been traveling for the last eight hours by bus and train and by foot.
ReplyDeleteThe fungwah bus had to pull over and sit on the side of the road because it overheated. A young woman in the seat in front of me complained to the driver about turning off the air conditioning.
He spoke little English, so he kept shaking his head saying "Bus not good."
I walked the last four miles from worcester home through shadeless plazas- up and down hills then across the lake bridge.
I haven't had computer access or internet in about a week. The first site I check is senate and the first thing I read is this.
Amen.
I thank you deeply for your comment good Senator, I feared I would have to make one myself, just so that there would be one to click on. Thank Ye Gods of Senate! Good to hear you have been traveling, I hope all is well!! Cheers!
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