:-/
I’ve spoken to a lot of people over the last few weeks. Everyone seems to be waiting for something, all in anticipation. Me too. Speaking for myself it’s a presentiment of repetition. I find myself in circumstances or states of mind and have a feeling of foreboding that is both enormously uncertain and hideously redundant. It’s the opposite of déjà vu, the feeling that it’s only a matter of time before everything I experience reoccurs. I wonder if the anticipation I keep seeing (particularly evident in the last few weeks) stems more from ambition or the fear of ennui and monotony. Or if they’re ultimately the same thing - one viewed through vexing optimism, the other through equally annoying pessimism.
Sometimes I’m sure that it’s all because our lives - as people - are so ridiculous that we’ve lost sight of ourselves. Like everything we do is building toward a moment like the one in Network where people finally stick their heads out their windows and scream, “I’M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" And these moments are happening, not en mass but in small spurts for different people at various times and with varying intensity.
And it’s everything that’s contributing: It’s the socks we’re wearing, it’s family, it’s how we look at ourselves in the mirror when we first get up (or don’t), it’s the way we glare at each other on the sidewalk, it’s how we’re worrying about money, it’s everything we almost remember, it's pictures in the newspaper, it’s the way we jam our thoughts into categories so they no longer mean anything and serve only as examples of some contrived categorization quietly humming midst the cacophony of academia, it’s the epiphanies where we realize how much time we spend with people we barely know and likely never will, and then the subsequent epiphany that asks “Who is it you think you know?”
I have thought that all we are entitled to, all that is natural are the moments where we are killing, giving birth, fucking, or dying. And everything else is how we fill the space in-between.
Sometimes I’m sure that it’s all because our lives - as people - are so ridiculous that we’ve lost sight of ourselves. Like everything we do is building toward a moment like the one in Network where people finally stick their heads out their windows and scream, “I’M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" And these moments are happening, not en mass but in small spurts for different people at various times and with varying intensity.
And it’s everything that’s contributing: It’s the socks we’re wearing, it’s family, it’s how we look at ourselves in the mirror when we first get up (or don’t), it’s the way we glare at each other on the sidewalk, it’s how we’re worrying about money, it’s everything we almost remember, it's pictures in the newspaper, it’s the way we jam our thoughts into categories so they no longer mean anything and serve only as examples of some contrived categorization quietly humming midst the cacophony of academia, it’s the epiphanies where we realize how much time we spend with people we barely know and likely never will, and then the subsequent epiphany that asks “Who is it you think you know?”
I have thought that all we are entitled to, all that is natural are the moments where we are killing, giving birth, fucking, or dying. And everything else is how we fill the space in-between.