...or at least something beautiful...
Oops! I knew that this blog's birthday was around now, but I just wasn't in the mood to work on this post yesterday, which was the actual birthday and would have made for a nice symmetry.
On Saturday night, I went to my first concert in a couple of months -- the great Great Lake Swimmers. A Canadian band playing here on the eve of Canada Day and on into Canada Day itself, as Tony Dekker observed 'round midnight. I practically had to force myself to go. But I know myself better. I paid for admission in advance, and I set up the infrastructure that is necessary in order for me to go to a late Saturday show (in other words, I set up an extra-hours sitter for my father).
The other signs were also auspicious: a full moon rising as I left home, beautiful weather, a parking space right in front of the venue, being well rested. And then I ran into my concert friend there, so for once I had someone to talk to between the bands.
And the show was great. I had my best moment of rock transcendance in a long time during one of the songs, Where in the World, and there were some others that came close.
The main reason I went, and it turned out to be right on the mark, is that I needed something to pull myself out of a down period. Once again, surrounding myself with wonderful things and experiences provides meaning (or at least a simulation of meaning) and solace in what Nick Lowe once called "this wicked world". It's the flip side of the drudgery and dreariness of my real life.
You might say, well, why not just change your real life?
I will, but I don't have it in me to abandon my father during this heartbreaking time, and if I can't be free from that, I might as well continue to work. Work is my social life, and, more important, it forces me to use my brain in a way that I believe is slowing my own decline. One of these days, things will be very different, inshallah.
For now, art is enough for me. Like, in the end, it was for the main character, Ka, in Snow, by Orhan Pamuk, a book I finished listening to last week. This was the first recorded book I've listened to in years. I guess it won lots of awards. It was mostly commended for depicting the tension within Turkey between the European mindset and the forces of "Islamism", which, of course, is a smaller version of what's going on in the whole world and is, in my mind, hastening the fall of western civilization. (We started the decline on our own).
What meant most to me in the book was Ka's essential solitude and the role that poetry and writing played in his life. He tried - very, very hard - but ultimately nothing else worked for him. He was an outsider, even among outsiders. He reminded me of me. And seeing my Turkish counterpart objectively reminded me that that's OK. There are beautiful things - tangible and intangible - in the world, and that's enough. At least for now.
* * * * *
I don't know if I'll post here again. I've been saying the same things over and over and over. And yet, I like setting up my thoughts in a way that records them for myself and anyone else who may be listening. (Not that I assume anyone is.) I simply don't have the time or energy to make it interesting.
So I've set up a new blog, At My Age, where I expect to mostly post snippets from my readings (and watchings) about how various people - real and imaginary, past and current - deal with getting older and coming to terms with their lives. I've been carrying around four or five of them in the past week. (It's a good thing I made a written list, too, as I can only think of two at this moment.) My goal is to save those thoughts to encourage myself when I need it, but you're welcome to look over my shoulder.
-- 1360
On Saturday night, I went to my first concert in a couple of months -- the great Great Lake Swimmers. A Canadian band playing here on the eve of Canada Day and on into Canada Day itself, as Tony Dekker observed 'round midnight. I practically had to force myself to go. But I know myself better. I paid for admission in advance, and I set up the infrastructure that is necessary in order for me to go to a late Saturday show (in other words, I set up an extra-hours sitter for my father).
The other signs were also auspicious: a full moon rising as I left home, beautiful weather, a parking space right in front of the venue, being well rested. And then I ran into my concert friend there, so for once I had someone to talk to between the bands.
And the show was great. I had my best moment of rock transcendance in a long time during one of the songs, Where in the World, and there were some others that came close.
The main reason I went, and it turned out to be right on the mark, is that I needed something to pull myself out of a down period. Once again, surrounding myself with wonderful things and experiences provides meaning (or at least a simulation of meaning) and solace in what Nick Lowe once called "this wicked world". It's the flip side of the drudgery and dreariness of my real life.
You might say, well, why not just change your real life?
I will, but I don't have it in me to abandon my father during this heartbreaking time, and if I can't be free from that, I might as well continue to work. Work is my social life, and, more important, it forces me to use my brain in a way that I believe is slowing my own decline. One of these days, things will be very different, inshallah.
For now, art is enough for me. Like, in the end, it was for the main character, Ka, in Snow, by Orhan Pamuk, a book I finished listening to last week. This was the first recorded book I've listened to in years. I guess it won lots of awards. It was mostly commended for depicting the tension within Turkey between the European mindset and the forces of "Islamism", which, of course, is a smaller version of what's going on in the whole world and is, in my mind, hastening the fall of western civilization. (We started the decline on our own).
What meant most to me in the book was Ka's essential solitude and the role that poetry and writing played in his life. He tried - very, very hard - but ultimately nothing else worked for him. He was an outsider, even among outsiders. He reminded me of me. And seeing my Turkish counterpart objectively reminded me that that's OK. There are beautiful things - tangible and intangible - in the world, and that's enough. At least for now.
* * * * *
I don't know if I'll post here again. I've been saying the same things over and over and over. And yet, I like setting up my thoughts in a way that records them for myself and anyone else who may be listening. (Not that I assume anyone is.) I simply don't have the time or energy to make it interesting.
So I've set up a new blog, At My Age, where I expect to mostly post snippets from my readings (and watchings) about how various people - real and imaginary, past and current - deal with getting older and coming to terms with their lives. I've been carrying around four or five of them in the past week. (It's a good thing I made a written list, too, as I can only think of two at this moment.) My goal is to save those thoughts to encourage myself when I need it, but you're welcome to look over my shoulder.
-- 1360
posted by lsg at 7/02/2007 05:52:00 AM
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