Wandering thoughts

I long to be part of a community whose members all share the same goals. I would love to labor at farming for the sake of my community; I would love to work at housebuilding for the sake of my community. The most attractive idea to me is becoming a strong individual while remaining happily integrated with the community.

Generation after generation, here in the U.S., musical fads change. Those who grew up in the so-called Greatest Generation (around WW2 and the Great Depression) had their own favorite styles of music — anything from Barbershop Quartet and Ragtime to Jazz and Swing — and then the came Rock & Roll during the age of the Baby Boomers; and finally the Oregon Trail Generation invented Rap, which blew every other form of music out of the galaxy. It’s not even worth speaking about music after this point, since Rap was ruined in the Millennial Generation and now no types of sonic art exist: it’s just corporate ads now. 

But when I look at ancient cultures that existed for centuries and passed down the same traditional music from age to age, I feel envious: I wish I could have contributed to a culture that had a firm foundation and was longstanding. Instead, I inherited a culture where our grandparents hated our parents’ music, and our parents hate the music of their children. (Why is this? Why are we all at odds with each other? Can’t we find any common ground?) As an Oregon Trailer, I put my energy into old Rap/Hip-Hop. I think I made interesting contributions, but nobody will ever know about them, because the next generation has already moved on to Corporate Ad Music, and the previous generations are legally obliged to hate my age’s innovation, so it’s as if our genre is lost in translation. I regret spending energy on a type of art, just to be told “That style is now out of fashion”.

One of the reasons I chose to focus all my care on books is that they stand the test of time. The most famous written compositions are thousands of years old. Plus, the realm of text is boundless — it’s more appealing to the imagination’s infinitude: there’s more room to roam — whereas returning from Literature back to Rock or Rap feels like entering a cramped room. 

But I still remember how crestfallen I felt after finishing my first book and showing it to my sister — she said “Oh, that’s cool, but I don’t read.” After being initially confused by this response, I then pointed to her smartphone and said “But you read your friends’ posts and texts on that screen all day.” And she replied: “But that’s not reading. Books are different.” — I’ve never gotten over the truth of this: it spelled my doom. I’ve been living in denial of this fact, ever since, as I stubbornly continue to write all my half-sense and fake tales. 

I love the potential of this world, thus I love life — I’m greedy for life: I want more, more, more… but I’m also able to admit that, whenever I die, it’ll be too late. — WAY too late. Some beings leave life too early, some wait too long; very few die at the right time. (I’m paraphrasing Nietzsche.) I should have died at the age of twelve. That was when I began to feel severe anxiety, which was my body telling me: “This system that we were born into is evil: let’s escape!” — I should have listened. Again I repeat: I’m currently deeply invested in life, and I want more of it, because I’ve put so much of my energy into making art (silly rap music and silly books) but I regret the fact that I did not die in childhood.

And people post photos of themselves on social networks. This reveals a snapshot of their physicality: the way that the light hit their face or form at a certain instant. So, if you’re interested in people’s LOOKS, you’re in luck: just visit the various social networks; but where can one go to find out what people THINK? — I suppose some jerk might answer: the same social networks allow people to post text, and many people speak their mind at those places. I guess that’s right, but it feels that the whole Internet leans heavily toward the side of image over spirit. I’d like it better if it tilted the other way. 

I believe, with Whitman, that the soul and “the other I am” must not abase themselves to each other. I take this to mean that the body is as important as the mind. I’m admittedly prejudiced in favor of the mind over matter. But doesn’t most social networking have a bias for bodies, for matter over mind? I’m just trying to say that it would be better if we had more of a balance — right now, we’re being swamped by the physical and visible. 

I hate motors. My dad always loved the sound of a motor. Whenever a neighbor would rev his vehicle’s engine and come tearing down the street making a roaring racket, my dad’s eyes would light up and he would smile and laugh and cheer like a stupid fool. I hate my dad. He’s been dead for a few years now (I’m not sure how many, because I don’t like to think about time), but my disgust for him has not abated one iota. Back when he died, I wondered if, once the dust settled, I’d begin to have pleasant memories of him, as many sons come to realize that they’ve been too harshly judgmental of their father. No: not in my case —  it’s now years later, and I still wish I’d never been born to that sack of trash. What an absolute roadblock. I always stress that neither he nor my mother were ever physically abusive, so maybe I’m just a mad brat who’s wrong about everything, but I feel wholly justified in despising my parents. They both believed in Christian Hell. I don’t believe in Christian Hell. Nevertheless, I hope that my parents both burn in Christian Hell, forever and ever, just like they suppose their religious opponents will. And I wish I’d been a MUCH worse child than I was. I ache with regret that I ever obeyed my parents about anything. They are very ignorant people who should have never produced children. Their idea of the proper life is an exquisite torment, to anyone who has eyes to see and ears to hear. (Why do I call their jingoism an “idea”? My parents had no ideas.)

Life is resilient. Life is invincible. Life will survive humankind very easily. But can humankind survive the state of having its own worst aspects in charge of itself? My guess is: Only by a stroke of luck.