First dreams, then the story will continue.
I'm finally reading Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre. I believe him to be obstinate in order to assuage the pain of his intrinsic romanticism. He is not as convincingly detached as an epitomical existentialist should be. The vaccuum feeling seems to dawn on him in quick surges. He just seems to have a very hard time reconciling the feeling of static complacency with the shift in consciousness.
I was reading through old entries...feeling embarrassed at my self-centeredness, thinking that it's amazing that no matter how many ancient buddhists I read, no matter how many times I read over the poems of the Tao, no matter how the sages translated from Sanskrit can deeply move me, I always come across as though I think I'm the most important person in the world. I don't think that.
My dreams in this early morning seemed very different than ones that have come to me before. I cannot pinpoint how. A contest, more like a race in the park, had the many people I was with focused on the same goal. In the end we were destined for an attic above the basketball courts. David Rippey, a boy I haven't seen since my junior year of high school, led the girls and I up to a makeshit space that felt like a sanctuary. I was careful not to step on the insulation. placing my feet carefully on the beams, I made my way to a plywood path lined with couches. The girls sat on the couches. I squatted on a upsidedown 5 gallon bucket. The next thing I remember is being in a small town in Colombia with Chris and his girlfriend, eh-hem...fiancee. He kept pushing me to walk faster than she was and he grabbed by hand. A surge rushed through me, and we started walking faster. We ducked into a small restaurant and began kissing like perfect lovers who would never see each other again. I remembered Chris and why I loved him and we were together in our time and space and even her presence could not pervade how we stood together. This dream left no wake of nostalgia or loss.
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(continued)
Noah eventually went to county prison for 6 months for some drug related crime. Once he was out, he was swept back under the current of old habits. His crimes seemed to become less conscious and more severe until he was picked up by the Federalis for trying to sneak immigrants over the border. His punishment was 16 months in a Tijuana prison.
By the time he was released, just a few months ago, the world he was living in had vanished from before our eyes. The people dispersed, the drugs went lower underground. For this group of rebels, recovery seemed to mean rehab or a baby and a big move. We ended up all over. Noah returned to the land of the living and seems to me today to be the most human of everyone. Perhaps it is because he's neared death so many times that the cliche ensues- he really knows what it is to live. The words that pour out of him are prolific and engaging. He stands as a living example of the polemic nature of life.
That very nature was my reason for getting involved. I wanted to go to hell so I would know to recognize the other side when I got there. I was never so brave as Noah. My impulses were weakened by mind's relentless grasp on the lessons of morals and tradition. No drug has ever let me completely release myself as he did.
(to be continued)
I was reading through old entries...feeling embarrassed at my self-centeredness, thinking that it's amazing that no matter how many ancient buddhists I read, no matter how many times I read over the poems of the Tao, no matter how the sages translated from Sanskrit can deeply move me, I always come across as though I think I'm the most important person in the world. I don't think that.
My dreams in this early morning seemed very different than ones that have come to me before. I cannot pinpoint how. A contest, more like a race in the park, had the many people I was with focused on the same goal. In the end we were destined for an attic above the basketball courts. David Rippey, a boy I haven't seen since my junior year of high school, led the girls and I up to a makeshit space that felt like a sanctuary. I was careful not to step on the insulation. placing my feet carefully on the beams, I made my way to a plywood path lined with couches. The girls sat on the couches. I squatted on a upsidedown 5 gallon bucket. The next thing I remember is being in a small town in Colombia with Chris and his girlfriend, eh-hem...fiancee. He kept pushing me to walk faster than she was and he grabbed by hand. A surge rushed through me, and we started walking faster. We ducked into a small restaurant and began kissing like perfect lovers who would never see each other again. I remembered Chris and why I loved him and we were together in our time and space and even her presence could not pervade how we stood together. This dream left no wake of nostalgia or loss.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
(continued)
Noah eventually went to county prison for 6 months for some drug related crime. Once he was out, he was swept back under the current of old habits. His crimes seemed to become less conscious and more severe until he was picked up by the Federalis for trying to sneak immigrants over the border. His punishment was 16 months in a Tijuana prison.
By the time he was released, just a few months ago, the world he was living in had vanished from before our eyes. The people dispersed, the drugs went lower underground. For this group of rebels, recovery seemed to mean rehab or a baby and a big move. We ended up all over. Noah returned to the land of the living and seems to me today to be the most human of everyone. Perhaps it is because he's neared death so many times that the cliche ensues- he really knows what it is to live. The words that pour out of him are prolific and engaging. He stands as a living example of the polemic nature of life.
That very nature was my reason for getting involved. I wanted to go to hell so I would know to recognize the other side when I got there. I was never so brave as Noah. My impulses were weakened by mind's relentless grasp on the lessons of morals and tradition. No drug has ever let me completely release myself as he did.
(to be continued)