vapid - boring, dull, lifeless. lacking significance
from a certain point of view, all that we do might be vapid. i've certainly thought that. i believe i've lived that way, w/out thinking i was living that way, for a great many years. i may still be. whatever, fuck myself if i can't take a joke.
late november 2010, chicagoland, the saturday after thanksgiving, evening time.
i arrive at my cousin's home. i'm in a mood, she's in a mood, what else is new, since that is the way of the world? after a bit, we go out for a smoke and she tells me how she recently bought a book because it reminded her of me.
now, how many books come through the average person's fingers, from buying, loaners, library books, etc? plenty. how many do we make a point to mention to friends and family? some. a few. maybe one or two.
what circumstances must align for us to relate a particular piece of information, from something personal, to political, to pop or cultural? i just gave an "i don't know" face. really, i did.
i wonder at these questions and more because my cuz openly admitted that this wasn't a book she'd typically buy, but because it reminded her of me, that apparently was just enough motivation on that particular day to buy that particular book she happened upon in that particular bookstore.
she even got up from our smoke break to get the book - she wanted me to see it. maybe something else out there wanted me to see it. a minute later i have in my hands stillness: daily gifts of solitude. now, if this book were merely some book on peaceiness or being in the woods, then this story would barely qualify as cute and i'd suggest you throw rotten tomatoes at me while i wrote on a chalkboard over and over, "i will pass on information that matters."
this book was written by a guy who was a caretaker at the same mountain ranch i was a caretaker for last year. much of his book is about his time there, about the joy of solitude and silence in that setting. he also may have slept in the same bed i did, rested on the same couches and chairs, and did the preliminary writing for his book in the same spots i did.
i want to smoke a cig and contemplate - what compels one person to do something? as i haven't smoked a cig in over 6 weeks, nor a puff in maybe 4 weeks, i won't smoke, but i will wonder what may have compelled my cousin that day to buy that book. and when i decide to pull myself back from a state of wonderment, i will write, because even though my writing, my life, may still be vapid, it's the most real thing i've got going.
note - you may freely comment here. i disabled the prompts to log on or sign up for something to leave comments.
cheers, peace, and love in this new age of aquarius
from a certain point of view, all that we do might be vapid. i've certainly thought that. i believe i've lived that way, w/out thinking i was living that way, for a great many years. i may still be. whatever, fuck myself if i can't take a joke.
late november 2010, chicagoland, the saturday after thanksgiving, evening time.
i arrive at my cousin's home. i'm in a mood, she's in a mood, what else is new, since that is the way of the world? after a bit, we go out for a smoke and she tells me how she recently bought a book because it reminded her of me.
now, how many books come through the average person's fingers, from buying, loaners, library books, etc? plenty. how many do we make a point to mention to friends and family? some. a few. maybe one or two.
what circumstances must align for us to relate a particular piece of information, from something personal, to political, to pop or cultural? i just gave an "i don't know" face. really, i did.
i wonder at these questions and more because my cuz openly admitted that this wasn't a book she'd typically buy, but because it reminded her of me, that apparently was just enough motivation on that particular day to buy that particular book she happened upon in that particular bookstore.
she even got up from our smoke break to get the book - she wanted me to see it. maybe something else out there wanted me to see it. a minute later i have in my hands stillness: daily gifts of solitude. now, if this book were merely some book on peaceiness or being in the woods, then this story would barely qualify as cute and i'd suggest you throw rotten tomatoes at me while i wrote on a chalkboard over and over, "i will pass on information that matters."
this book was written by a guy who was a caretaker at the same mountain ranch i was a caretaker for last year. much of his book is about his time there, about the joy of solitude and silence in that setting. he also may have slept in the same bed i did, rested on the same couches and chairs, and did the preliminary writing for his book in the same spots i did.
i want to smoke a cig and contemplate - what compels one person to do something? as i haven't smoked a cig in over 6 weeks, nor a puff in maybe 4 weeks, i won't smoke, but i will wonder what may have compelled my cousin that day to buy that book. and when i decide to pull myself back from a state of wonderment, i will write, because even though my writing, my life, may still be vapid, it's the most real thing i've got going.
note - you may freely comment here. i disabled the prompts to log on or sign up for something to leave comments.
cheers, peace, and love in this new age of aquarius
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