Exist.

I tend to wonder what all my musings add up to. Like, in the greater scheme of things, how much do MY thoughts matter? The only conclusion I can come up with is, that its for my own SANITY.

I'm continually chasing the answer to what it means to EXIST.I'm not sure what this means. Probably another age old stab at, "What is the meaning of life?"

Hmm...

Not much success there it seems. I say there's been no success because if someone found it, they probably would have told others, and if it was true there'd be a whole lot more people content with their lives... But, then again I might be painting with the wrong brush.

Let me try again...

Who is to say that Hunter S. Thompson's (HST) dope induced lifestyle, was not an example of existence? To exist is to have actual being. There is definitely a difference between those who DO and those who persist to BE. Despite his eccentricities HST persisted to BE in a way that upheld justice, especially when the law was misused to bring the innocent down. That might be somewhat of a 'fluffy' description of HST, but it is evident in his writing and what he stood for. Despite his dope habits HST persisted to BE.

I'm also drawn to the examples of Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Theresa and Nelson Mandela. I like it how Jack Kerouac puts it, "Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion." Somehow whenever I think of these people, I get this kind of impression. They have somehow transcended all trends and fads and popular opinion. They EXIST beyond the need for their identities to be defined by those parameters that make up popular culture.

Hmm... Perhaps...

I should probably read some Kierkegaard and Dostoyevsky and get back to you...

Articulate. [adj., n. ahr-tik-yuh-lit; v. ahr-tik-yuh-leyt] 1. using language easily and fluently; having facility with words: an articulate speaker.

Frustration too easily accompanies my inability to put into words those thoughts that stir inside of me. The cat has caught my tongue and is stuck in a tree. No point trying to get a hold of the local Fire Department, my thoughts are still in their early stages and somewhat isolated, like a small town in the country. The Fire Department is made up of volunteers anyway and they closed up shop 3 hours ago. The cat's got my tongue. And with it, my inability to make sense of my thoughts.

Anyway, here it goes...

I've been thinking, as I ended the previous post, about the connection between the ideas of those who situate themselves on the edge through drug taking, alcohol binging and fast living and those who situate themselves on the edge as a result of being followers of Jesus. There are some in the latter category who prescribe to Christian Anarchism. A minority within a minority? Perhaps, but I won't go down that road today.

It doesn't help over dosing on the writings of Hunter S. Thompson, and having your mind on the road with Jack Kerouac. Not helpful in the sense that, you're confronted with your own inability to act in a way as to make it all count, yet somehow you're arrested by pessimism too. Passively consuming media sound-bites, and scoffing everything the tabloid smörgåsbord puts before us, only to inadvertently fuel the incessant greed of those desperate for attention. Or we might just be feeding our-nosy-selves? Living vicariously through the stories of the rich and beautiful. Oh I'm not as rich as those people, we say. We deserve our slice of heaven don't we?, we lie to ourselves.

Often those who push against the cynical picture I just painted (yes, i admit to being cynic!) tend to have as their right hand man, a bottle of whiskey who wildly wields in holster a plethora of drugs. As though in a western, the brutal reality of politics, consumerism and materialism is in a showdown against those who dare to defy them, who quick draw lines of cocaine, acid and copious amounts of weed. Hunter S. Thompson puts it like this in a chat with William McKeen, "Drugs usually enhance or strengthen my perceptions and reactions, for good or ill. They've given me the resilience to withstand repeated shocks to my innocence gland. The brutal reality of politics alone would probably be intolerable without drugs."

Am I for the use of drugs to numb the shocks to the innocence gland? Not necessarily, I'm just really interested in the intersection that might exist. For one, there's a strong sense among those who situate themselves on the edge that the "Church" consists of ignorant fools, and lead by pedophiles of the greatest proportion. There is a sense I have gathered, in my uneducated opinion and mere assumption, that whatever might be the way forward does not exist in religion. I'll add that there is some truth to that.

Where am i going with all of this? Leading you down some dark alley and then... WHACK! You wake up with a searing headache, a black cloth bag over your head as wake you up to the gibberish of your captors. "What should we do with the body once we've taken care of him/her?" No my intentions are innocent, they really are! Honest...

This my attempt to...

Articulate. [adj., n. ahr-tik-yuh-lit; v. ahr-tik-yuh-leyt] 1. using language easily and fluently; having facility with words: an articulate speaker.

Jack Kerouac - On The Road (1955) part. 2

Great things are not accomplished by those who yield to trends and fads and popular opinion.
Jack Kerouac

Wow, I find myself at a loss for words.

Part of me thinks that it's Kerouac's fault. Perhaps the way he wrote has made me self conscious of the style of my own writing. Or my attempt at writing. Anyway, I digress.

This book is nothing short of a masterpiece. You might disagree, but first you'd have to read the book and then look at every other person who had read it. It seems the verdict is unanimous. Jack Kerouac is a literary genius. His writing so effortless. Your eyes follow, your finger keeps turning the pages, your heart literally beats a bit faster. The precision of the detail, the captivating dialogue.

"On the Road", captures a desire that seems to run not only deep within us, but also counter to the messages that get blared at us from that 'talking-box' in our living rooms.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” - Jack Kerouac.

It makes you want to get of that comfortable little nook where you always enjoy reading your books, pack your bag, step out onto the curb in front of your, and stick your thumb out. You don't want to just be part of the 'everybody goes "Awww!" You want to do it, live, breath, experience.

Kerouac's words aren't the only ones that have driven me to this conclusion, but I'll save them for another time. But seriously though, read it...