(no subject)
I've been reading this book, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and it's made me feel very narrative lately.
“When you get older, the less you laugh.” He said laying there on the stoop with the lingering smoke of the cigarette between his fingers. “It’s not that things become less funny, it’s because they become so funny there’s no more need to laugh.” I stared at the silhouetted branches against the moon. “The joke can be enjoyed with silent smiles.”
I can’t help but notice how broadly my life has changed over and over again. Just months ago I had been captivated by his lifestyle. His train of thought, the way he dressed and the way he walked. The people he’s associated with. I was so gullible and easily impressed. Like a plastic fork as a useful tool. When I think about it now, this lifestyle was what I have craved for. I remember day dreaming and wishing for it, when I’ve just now realized its tangibility. A feeble goal has been reached.
This realization made me wonder about any other goal I have and would have. I wonder of the feeling of being unimpressed with it after its attainment. Success is sweet. It’s the mile stones I can count and tally off as I run along this trodden path. Rewards. Is that what it’s all about? Feeling better in the end? Or is it for the constant un-satisfaction? The hungry greed that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? Or both? I wonder why I bother. It’s because I have nothing else.
I still feel empty.
But I guess that’s okay.
I can always fill up.
“When you get older, the less you laugh.” He said laying there on the stoop with the lingering smoke of the cigarette between his fingers. “It’s not that things become less funny, it’s because they become so funny there’s no more need to laugh.” I stared at the silhouetted branches against the moon. “The joke can be enjoyed with silent smiles.”
I can’t help but notice how broadly my life has changed over and over again. Just months ago I had been captivated by his lifestyle. His train of thought, the way he dressed and the way he walked. The people he’s associated with. I was so gullible and easily impressed. Like a plastic fork as a useful tool. When I think about it now, this lifestyle was what I have craved for. I remember day dreaming and wishing for it, when I’ve just now realized its tangibility. A feeble goal has been reached.
This realization made me wonder about any other goal I have and would have. I wonder of the feeling of being unimpressed with it after its attainment. Success is sweet. It’s the mile stones I can count and tally off as I run along this trodden path. Rewards. Is that what it’s all about? Feeling better in the end? Or is it for the constant un-satisfaction? The hungry greed that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? Or both? I wonder why I bother. It’s because I have nothing else.
I still feel empty.
But I guess that’s okay.
I can always fill up.