A quote:
"I searched, too, in the lines of my face for any indications of the individual I might have become -- a big-time player, a destroyer, a spiritual descendant of Jay Gould -- but all there was in my reflection, all I recognized of anything the future might have held was me... the familiar face of a thousand shaves."
--Alan Glynn, The Dark Fields
I felt the need to write this down because I genuinely FEEL this quote. I feel it in that sense - and this will be nonsense to all but a very select few of you - that my father felt the story he wrote of his old self talking to his young self.
In a nutshell, "What you think it is, boy? It ain't. It's totally different. But not even how you think when you think 'different.' How do I know? Because I was you. And am, to an extent. But just trust me when I tell you that you've got shit backwards, inside-out, and flipped on it's ear. But don't worry; you'll be me and you'll get it all one day."
Bear in mind two things with that quote. Number one, my father wrote that in his twenties. Clearly, as I am now in my twenties, those days are gone. But you can see how prophetic they can be. Number two - and this is where the first quote I put up comes in to play - I do believe he still feels like he's, on some level, still that twenty-something. Still with a whole world of shit he "just don't know yet."
And that's where I feel I am. My father put it rather eloquently, and earlier - both in time (obviously) and age than I either fully recognized it or could truly appreciate it. Now, though, on the... I can't even say cusp or brink, because while I am still cusping, one might say, I'm definitely beginning to fit more and more in to the category of FULL adult-hood. (I have political and social opinions that DON'T come from my parents? What?!)
This is touching on deeper issues that I've had rattling in my brain with no real outlet for - until I remembered I have a livejournal - and also don't particularly feel like getting in to now with such a fascinating book sitting next to me, open to the middle of a chapter with my eyes glancing to the middle of the page where I left off.
With that, Livejournal, I will bid you adieu for the next indeterminate time, though I am sure that something else in this book will prompt me to wrote again. As well, for those oh-so-few of you who do still read this, any books you are willing to suggest to me that are in the realm of authors such as Asimov, Vonnegut, or Stross, by all means, suggest away. I will be MORE than happy to take you up on your suggestions.
--Alan Glynn, The Dark Fields
I felt the need to write this down because I genuinely FEEL this quote. I feel it in that sense - and this will be nonsense to all but a very select few of you - that my father felt the story he wrote of his old self talking to his young self.
In a nutshell, "What you think it is, boy? It ain't. It's totally different. But not even how you think when you think 'different.' How do I know? Because I was you. And am, to an extent. But just trust me when I tell you that you've got shit backwards, inside-out, and flipped on it's ear. But don't worry; you'll be me and you'll get it all one day."
Bear in mind two things with that quote. Number one, my father wrote that in his twenties. Clearly, as I am now in my twenties, those days are gone. But you can see how prophetic they can be. Number two - and this is where the first quote I put up comes in to play - I do believe he still feels like he's, on some level, still that twenty-something. Still with a whole world of shit he "just don't know yet."
And that's where I feel I am. My father put it rather eloquently, and earlier - both in time (obviously) and age than I either fully recognized it or could truly appreciate it. Now, though, on the... I can't even say cusp or brink, because while I am still cusping, one might say, I'm definitely beginning to fit more and more in to the category of FULL adult-hood. (I have political and social opinions that DON'T come from my parents? What?!)
This is touching on deeper issues that I've had rattling in my brain with no real outlet for - until I remembered I have a livejournal - and also don't particularly feel like getting in to now with such a fascinating book sitting next to me, open to the middle of a chapter with my eyes glancing to the middle of the page where I left off.
With that, Livejournal, I will bid you adieu for the next indeterminate time, though I am sure that something else in this book will prompt me to wrote again. As well, for those oh-so-few of you who do still read this, any books you are willing to suggest to me that are in the realm of authors such as Asimov, Vonnegut, or Stross, by all means, suggest away. I will be MORE than happy to take you up on your suggestions.