I always get profound on these crazy binges. I've been up for 23 hours, working continuously on papers, event organizing, and job applications. Blew through so much shit today. Damned proud of myself. It is always on these splurges that I reach those crazy manic moments, moments of profundity. Since I am not eloquent enough right now, I'll quote.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
that we are not really at home in our interpreted world.
Perhaps there remains for us some tree on a hillside, which every day we can take into
our vision;
there remains for us yesterday's street and the loyalty of a habit so much at
ease
when it stayed with us that it moved in and never left.
Oh and night: there is night, when a wind full of infinite space gnaws at our faces.
Whom would it not remain for--that longed-after, mildly disillusioning presence,
which the solitary heart so painfully meets.
Is it any less difficult for lovers?
But they keep on using each other to hide their own fate.
Don't you know yet?
Fling the emptiness out of your arms into the spaces we breathe;
Rilke says, or I believe he says, as a subtext and in an extraordinarily abstract way, that each of us are alone. He captures the profoundity of that loneliness in such a powerful way. Honey, there is no soul mate, no bff. I had to live it before I truly believed it. I am alone on this road of life. And it feels pretty motherfuckin good.
I am currently writing a paper about the how the novel superseded the poem as the dominant genre. Supposedly, the poem reaches for the universal, the divine, the commonality in all of us. Whereas novel reach for the individual. Makes sense, the Bible is a poem (notice the line numbers). Most novels are about the common man, anti-heros, piddling peons of existence. Supposedly, this eclipse of poetry by the novel is a realization that there is no absolute truth. Historically, we reached this critical point when travel and information became so easy. Since then, people have been forming their individual interpretations. Hence, we all become trapped in ourselves, and we can no longer effectively communicate with anyone else (at least without a GREAT amount of difficulty. think about how hard relationships are. potentially, they make sense. both sides win... but they never work out like that.) Thus we are all alone, and we have to figure out devices of how to deal with our own ownness. Writing is one way. Money is another...
Maniac posting is worse than drunken posting. I will try to come back and make more sense of this later.
...the semi-beautiful is that everyone can play a part, play the lead in their very own self-created world.
previous - next