(no subject)
I know nothing of suffering. Ma tristesse n'est pas comparable a celle de lui. I am stupid for believing that any of my problems are anything but inconsequential. We have lost touch with reality and with all that is important and really matters. Our culture has robbed our lives of meaning. We are too comfortable to feel real pain. I perpetuate my personal patterns of sadness because I can. I have the luxury of being self-absorbed. Others have no choice but to deal with what ails them and recuperate. They have no father to rely on when they are broke. They have no refuge if their electricity gets shut off because they haven't paid the bills because they were too depressed to go to work for a few weeks. They must bounce back from whatever walls they are thrown up against. He will teach me of fraternity and objectives. I will teach him English.
Ever since I finished reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I can't help but notice that life really is just a series of fortuities. I thought I was going insane yesterday when I woke up and couldn't find my little bag of pot. I was convinced someone had come in and stolen it during the night or that my neighbours had broken in and taken it so they could use it as evidence when they take us to court for being too loud. I didn't know what to do so I called A. and he came over but in the end I found the bag. When he came over he spoke to himself for two hours and did not find this strange. He lamented how much he's changed since he came to Montreal, and rambled about his inability to understand my lifestyle which somehow turned into a rant about everything that is wrong in the world. He pontificated about prostitutes and homosexuality somewhere in the mix too. I told him to leave, wishing I had never alerted him of my false alarm burglary. I think he must have been drunk because he was a completely different person and I've only seen him act that way when he's had too much to drink, but it was 9 in the morning. I don't know what to think but he was very offended that I asked him to leave and continued to talk for another twenty minutes while at the door and I couldn't wait for him to just get the fuck out and was relieved when he finally left. But then I started caring, so I slept the entire day to avoid thinking about it and then of course couldn't sleep at night so I came to the cafe at 5 a.m. thinking I'd get some work done but as fate would have it S. was here with his little brother and we finally spoke after all this time. Somehow four hours have passed and I haven't done anything but listen to his ideas but I'm not too concerned. These acquaintances are worth it.