I have recently played with the idea of writing a book of Philosophy. I play with notions so often it has become my trademark, but the thing many fail to realize is that I mean each and every gesture with the honesty of an eleven-year-old boy pursuing his first kiss. I have sort of studied philosophy over the years, it has become a sort of guidance in the same way that basketball has. Though I bone up on recently released texts, I can't find any recently released philosophy that professes itself to be as such. Everything that aiming to examine the vehicle of modern thought fails to acknowledge it's aim. I believe Malcom Gladwell to be the foremost philosopher of our generation, but even Gladwell demures from this distinction from writing on topics that are more easily classified as "self-help" or "economics".
Someone should write a book of philosophy. There is quite a bit going on this days, atr least in the world as I see it. Decisions are made for no palpable reason (especially in myself). Giant structures spurt up from the ground without provocation. It seems the world has begun to govern itself via the rationale of "For No Reason At All" a thought process easily explained by the phrase "why not?". Of the external forces slowly seeping their forces into each and every one of us, none possesses a beauitful message. All is riddled with fear and expectation. I can't read Gladwell without thinking myself as a vehicle of pure shenanigan. To understand any of the forces at work I must delve backwards into the murk of elder-eras.
These seem good, but why is it that no one has taken to professing the joys of being human. Eating, runing, screwing, and somehow capturing thought in word form is the most dynamic thing one could ever ask for. I would like nothing more than to find satisfaction in my human needs, but such things are of little importance to the general populace, at least according to book sales.
Every meal we eat is a fantastic endeavor.
Every tryst is a wonderful moment of bliss.
But no one is concerned about this.
Race/economy/racial economic relations and other tawdry terms seep into our understanding of human life. These thigns are important-in a long run scenario- but do little to assuage the guilt and trepidation associated with day to day monotony. This general malaise is paramount to our problems and without striving forward to rediscover the joy of living, we will be left waiting for our lives to begin while forced into the motions.
I have been toiling to produce a novel under rthe duress of producing a novel. Along the way I have come to disregard the words and appreciate my journey. I know the words will be good but they will ultimately pale in comparison to the process that got me there. As a human being the 1000 strategies, the endless peptalks, and ways of trickery harbor more meaning than anything I could ever produce.
My greatest hope is that the after life consists of a ledger listing all thoughts and emotions driving human action. I know the past year of my life would be a wonderfully resonant narrative, but have no way to explain my journey to others. The decisions enacted in the creation of anything are more meaningful than any finished product. Real, raw though. Untainted emotion. Such is the vehicle of understanding. If we are forced to look at life through the parameters of finished art, money, and love, we fail to acknowledge the driving force of desire.
There is want to do something. Like all human desires, it takes an abstract route to manifest itself.
Writing this made me think of my friend Pete. We are drifting a part but our lives have been wound together through the strings of the Great narrative. As young men seeking to encumber great tasks we toil under own minds, seeking release from the cycle of proving ourselves. I know we are both near the finish line. We might thrust our works unto the world, but I think he'd agree that nothing could compare to the feeligns we felt at the onus of our project. If we could bottle these feelings and sell them to the masses, we'd be millionaires. Since there is no economic demand or scientific possibility for contained human emotions, we deign to toil under individual duress, hopeful the fruits of our labors will exude from us.
Maybe they do. Maybe they don't .
Empty beer bottles, a chair full of worry, these are the images that have come to represent me. I am reasonably sure Pete has his own talismen. Fret not old Pete, regardless of the end product, if the ledger exists we will be forever cast in glossy form.
It is great to be human and we've been so human,
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