My present state: growing old. I look upon my life as a medical encyclopedia, phenomena, symptoms, cures. When I meet someone, I talk at length about my bodily ailments, rather than embarking on a discussion about the goings on in the world of actions and events, of brisk initiatives and unexpected turns. Wrapped up in the naked Self, time becomes irrelevant. I no longer remember if something happened last summer, or whether it happened three years ago. It doesn't matter anway, does it? My youthly vigor is declining. I feel slightly drowsy after two beers. The music at the bar is too loud, people make too much noise. They are bothering me. I go (= crutch my way) home, listen to Nebraska, and I really like it. I like the Boss, I like the hushed stories on that album. I enjoy lounge jazz more and more, Yesterday’s new quintet, and other acts (what is next?). What is regarded as popular music at the moment, about that I have no clue whatsoever.
The pleasantries; a glass of dear old Talisker. Enjoying the harsh, dynamic taste. Scotch, single-malt – what did you think?
I watch a documentary about religious Austrians. It’s a bit tedious but it alerts me to some interesting questions about the privacy of prayer, what it means to turn to God for help and guidance.
Suddenly overcome by an urge to learn about local politics, to feel responsible, I sign up for a subscription to the local newspaper. I skim through the latest news from Nagu, Pargas, Korpo and read about one of the biggest cruisers in the world, built by Aker Yards. Aker Yards is busy, busy. The picture included in the article makes me somewhat sick in the stomach. I wonder why the cruisers mentioned in the article bear names that makes me think of G.W Bush. Freedom of the seas, Independence of the seas, Liberty of the seas.
I realize I've spent many years at the same place, with the same people. Has anything changed? I become aware of how I tend to think in terms of “what students are like nowadays” (what is next?).
I worry about going out; moving around is like an adventure, a process, - labour. Everything is labour. Now I know what Arendt means: life becomes a series of necessities one grapples with as efficiently as one can. I worry, I ruminate. I am engrossed in futilities.
People tell me I should get some clothes that are more “punk” than the style (style? Or rather the lack of it) that I am sporting right now. I realize I don’t know what this style even looks like. I assume it is something colourful, red and black perhaps, something retro. Tight jeans. Hip kids, I wheeze, despicably. Well, I go to the store, and my existential state of being-thrown-into-the-world is making itself apparent as I am forced to deal with a Big Choice: the black business shirt, or the grey business shirt? Better take the grey one.
The book I am reading at the moment: The Planetarium by Nathalie Sarraute, a book about resentment. Resentment is a state of eternity, and at the same time a state in which time passes by unnoticed. Nothing matters, except the heavy load of accusations and lingering guilt and bitterness. Resentment is the opposite of hope. It’s the point when time stops, where everything stops, and dies without you noticing it. Sarraute captures the form of attention that is expressive of resentment. Every movement a person makes, every sentence she utters, is a mark of, a proof of, her evil nature and her ill will. I read the book in the light of Nietzsche, what he says about resentment, remembrance and the blessing of forgetting.
I'm visiting the Village this weekend. I will have a change of heart; when I meet villagers of my own age, I feel much younger than them; settled down, married, with a respectable job, living in a spacious house and parking their cars in a spacious garage. They've begun to talk like their parents; matter-of-factly, gravely delivered gossip. The same tone of voice, the same interests, the same prospects. But then again, I hardly know them; we meet in passing, they ask me if I am still in school (am I? I don't know), and I ask them something about their jobs. We share formalities. At the moment, in this present state of mine, I would fit in. A bit. I hope this is a passing phase.
The pleasantries; a glass of dear old Talisker. Enjoying the harsh, dynamic taste. Scotch, single-malt – what did you think?
I watch a documentary about religious Austrians. It’s a bit tedious but it alerts me to some interesting questions about the privacy of prayer, what it means to turn to God for help and guidance.
Suddenly overcome by an urge to learn about local politics, to feel responsible, I sign up for a subscription to the local newspaper. I skim through the latest news from Nagu, Pargas, Korpo and read about one of the biggest cruisers in the world, built by Aker Yards. Aker Yards is busy, busy. The picture included in the article makes me somewhat sick in the stomach. I wonder why the cruisers mentioned in the article bear names that makes me think of G.W Bush. Freedom of the seas, Independence of the seas, Liberty of the seas.
I realize I've spent many years at the same place, with the same people. Has anything changed? I become aware of how I tend to think in terms of “what students are like nowadays” (what is next?).
I worry about going out; moving around is like an adventure, a process, - labour. Everything is labour. Now I know what Arendt means: life becomes a series of necessities one grapples with as efficiently as one can. I worry, I ruminate. I am engrossed in futilities.
People tell me I should get some clothes that are more “punk” than the style (style? Or rather the lack of it) that I am sporting right now. I realize I don’t know what this style even looks like. I assume it is something colourful, red and black perhaps, something retro. Tight jeans. Hip kids, I wheeze, despicably. Well, I go to the store, and my existential state of being-thrown-into-the-world is making itself apparent as I am forced to deal with a Big Choice: the black business shirt, or the grey business shirt? Better take the grey one.
The book I am reading at the moment: The Planetarium by Nathalie Sarraute, a book about resentment. Resentment is a state of eternity, and at the same time a state in which time passes by unnoticed. Nothing matters, except the heavy load of accusations and lingering guilt and bitterness. Resentment is the opposite of hope. It’s the point when time stops, where everything stops, and dies without you noticing it. Sarraute captures the form of attention that is expressive of resentment. Every movement a person makes, every sentence she utters, is a mark of, a proof of, her evil nature and her ill will. I read the book in the light of Nietzsche, what he says about resentment, remembrance and the blessing of forgetting.
I'm visiting the Village this weekend. I will have a change of heart; when I meet villagers of my own age, I feel much younger than them; settled down, married, with a respectable job, living in a spacious house and parking their cars in a spacious garage. They've begun to talk like their parents; matter-of-factly, gravely delivered gossip. The same tone of voice, the same interests, the same prospects. But then again, I hardly know them; we meet in passing, they ask me if I am still in school (am I? I don't know), and I ask them something about their jobs. We share formalities. At the moment, in this present state of mine, I would fit in. A bit. I hope this is a passing phase.
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