If I were a rich man...

I saw the Kara Walker exhibit at the Whitney on Saturday, which was absolutely marvelous, morbid and monstrous all in one breath. Consequently, I was also on a date with someone 12 years my senior (gasp). That delicious little morsel is for another time. What I came to tell you about was what happened later on that night while we were heading back through Lexington to part ways.

We were looking for the 6 train, which we knew to be nearby, only we needed some form of confirmation as to the general direction we were heading in. So, we approach the corner and look hesitatingly towards a disheveled older man in a long, woolen overcoat walking his dog. Besides appearing disoriented he also seemed quietly engaged in dialogue with either himself or his dog. My date and I look at each other in that painful way that acknowledges what must be done, and asking for the both of us, he points in the direction we're headed,

"Excuse me, is the 6 train down that way?"

"WHAT?", is the response, as the man tilts his head forward like a saucer and cups his ear, a gesture renown for it's abilities to siphon sound deep into the cochlea.

"The SIX TRAIN, is it down that way?"

"SIX AVE? YEAH IT'S OVER THERE."

"No, actually the 6 TRAIN"

He shakes his head, "THE LANE? WHAT LANE?"

"No, Sir, the Six TRAIN, the SUBWAY..."

He chuckles disapprovingly, "OH NO, I'M A RICH MAN, I DON'T TAKE THE SUBWAY"

((say what?!)) We look at each other in amused disbelief, and as if that wasn't enough he adds,

"I DRIVE A ROLLS-ROYCE, VERY NICE CAR..."

By then we've already started walking away, laughing and trying to confirm whether that just actually happened. It's funny spending the entire afternoon contemplating all of the fantastically explicit caricatures and silhouettes of black slaves being raped, sodomized, chained, abused, exploited, [insert negative trans. verb], and then meeting the archetypal, rich, white man on the street who confirms if not promotes (with pride) the very same ideas you just spent the day trying to forget, at least for a little while...

Luchando

Let's deceive ourselves a moment and pretend that everything has a beginning. I created this blog after much fooling around, and will now attempt to reconcile all of the time lost contemplating all those things that hold no real weight or value in this absurd phenomenology, even though they are eternally pressed upon our pliable minds. I suppose that is too vague a statement to receive any merit, but onward we drive towards meaning.

In truth, we let ourselves walk about in much of a trance, without realizing the immediate need to do something worthwhile with our lives. And if we do realize it, it's often much easier to simply sulk in the undertow that drags us under after the wave of euphoria first hit, then to rise up from the weight of water that seems to pull at every corner of our being, and walk awkwardly forward, crotch full of sand and all. We become evermore desensitized and preoccupied with culture, education, money, mating and the demands of these and other evolutionarily acquired habits. And we forget. Forget that we are still naive, that we are but one point in the endless horizon of humanity searching for itself, for truth. If we don't completely decimate ourselves first, there will always something better, someone to take over. We are built to grace this world only briefly and can either chose to contribute or take away, either way, regardless of our efforts, we wouldn't know what to do with immortality even if it came in a little pill. I will leave all the implications of that metaphor for another time. Ultimately, or imperatively, you must stop and ask yourself, "What will I do that is worthwhile?"

The answer to that simple question is inextricably tied to everything else, in such a way as to boggle the mind. The moment we begin to consider our impact in the world is the moment we break from our solipsism and join the party. Why is it so difficult for people to realize that when everyone agrees to follow that kind of mission, the world is a better place for it? I think it is harder for most to escape that trance, the mesmerizing illusion that dances like a clown--money clutched in one hand, noose in the other.

When will you confront yourself with the ever present truth of your own mortality?