Pic of the day: The Plaster Kiln, by Jean Louis Theodore Gericault
Life continues, and some mornings, weary of the noise, discouraged by the prospect of the interminable work to keep after, sickened also by the madness of the world that leaps at you from the newspaper, finally convinced that I will not be equal to it and that I will disappoint everyone—all I want to do is sit down and wait for evening. This is what I feel like, and sometimes I yield to it.
It’s about 20 minutes after 11 pm eastern time here on Staten Island as I write this.
I’ve written and deleted this particular section at least 3 times now. I’ve written about Adam Curry. I’ve written about conservatism. I’ve written about the President. And deleted it all.
Not that it wasn’t good, it was up to the standard that I normally write to, but it just didn’t seem to fit. It just didn’t feel right.
Not that it matters, not today.
I’m hanging out with my wife, and I am happy with that.
I did a good days work and got an honest days pay for it, and I am happy with that.
I ran as hard as I could today, broke a severe sweat doing it, and I am happy with that.
I read one of my favorite books today going to work, and coming back from work, and I am happy with that.
My wife is working next to me, and we are talking while she works and I write.
We are watching a documentary about the meaning of life while we do this. I don’t know what the meaning of life is. 42? I dunno. I’m 44. I think if it’s a number it’s 44 until the day I turn 45, then it becomes 45. My wife disagrees. Because she is 42.
The real meaning of life? It”s different for everyone. There is no universal answer to that question. My answer would not be your answer. Is the meaning of life to be happy? If it is for you, then it is. If not, then not. For me, I have only an inkling of an answer, because I don’t really understand the question, except maybe peripherally.
What does it mean “What is the meaning of life?” Does it even need a meaning? You drink coffee, work, worship, shop, fuck, fart, do a billion other things. Why would one action(worship, work) or one thing (God, sex, anything else) be the meaning of life when there are so many things that make up that life? Why would there be a need to frame that existence with meaning?
Ask a bull with a yoke on it’s neck what life means. Ask a horse running a race with a human on it’s back what life means. Ask a man fighting for his life what life means. Life’s meaning depends on how your life is going and where you are and how you experience it, and the life you’ve lived since you were a child.
Life is not something to be pondered. Life is something to be lived, experienced. Viscerally. Enjoyed if it can be enjoyed. Struggle through if you must, fight if the need arises, but the meaning, like life itself, cannot be anything but a personal experience.
Reminds me of a song lyric.
“Why are we here? Because we’re here, Roll the bones…”
That’s it from here, America. G’night.