Tosh's Journal - September 26 (T.S. Eliot, Martin Heidegger, & Bryan Ferry)

TOSH'S JOURNAL

September 26

When I wake up in the morning, I have the taste of fear in my mouth. "I will show you fear in a handful of dust." I sometimes feel like I have no teeth, and my tongue is not part of my mouth. I can never get out of bed quickly. I need at least ten minutes to think where I am, and what my purpose here in life is or in this house. "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." One…Two…Three, that's enough for now. I never was a fan of strong coffee. In actuality, I always prefer the coffee served in diners. What I like about it is that it's not precious. It is something to drink while you concentrate on something else. Or I should say, I'm just focusing on the space between objects. "To think is to confine yourself to a single thought that one day stands still like a star in the world's sky."

I reflect on the moments passing as if I was dancing with my shadow. I have a fear of moments of not being noted or paid attention to. When I look back, it is always the direction of my past. If I look forward, I'm deeply into the present. The future is the entrance of my door. "If you haven't the strength to impose your own terms upon life, then you must accept the terms it offers you." Yet, I stand very still while stirring my coffee in the morning.

There is something that I want, but I can't have it. "Longing is the agony of the nearness of the distant." I had some money, but now I don't. "Part of the money went on gambling, and part of it went on women. The rest I spent foolishly." I tend to live in the moment, but alas, does that moment love me? The indifference of the world, or time passing, I really can't recall a moment when I first realized that I love you. Or at the very least, the thought of loving you. "I like having a secret life." "I've had quite a few moments I've liked, so it's good enough." So what I have I should keep, and then perhaps I can recall it back again, like an old friend who never lets me down.

Only in the middle of the night, and I start having my dreams, that I realize that I plenty to fear. All my defense mechanisms are down and being repaired by the time I wake up in the morning. But when I do wake up suddenly from a dream, or nightmare, it is the worst feeling of dread. There are two lives. One is here, writing to you, and the other is when I lose myself in a dream, and I can't control the images and people that invade my life with my eyes closed. I have awoken to see shadows briefly go by me, and I'm never sure if it is a part of the dream, or perhaps I'm indeed not alone in this world. There is a bridge between dream and awaken life.   But due to my vertigo, I don't want to look down. The bridge is just a high wire, and my balance is rather unfortunate. One thing that soothes my soul is music. "I frequently hear music in the very heart of noise." "You can never get silence anywhere nowadays, have you noticed?"

"At The Existentialist Café: Freedom, Being, and Apricot Cocktails" by Sarah Bakewell

ISBN: 978-159051488-7 Other Press

The existentialist thought has been around forever.   We didn't have a name for it, but clearly, the issue of the importance of a commitment is something one shouldn't take lightly.   In a flash thought, when we (meaning us mortals on planet America) hear the word existentialism, we think of Jean-Paul Sartre.   Clearly, he's the figurehead, but the roots of that thought go back to Nazi-loving Martin Heidegger, and of course, Søren Kierkegaard.   In other words, it's an endless depth in a lake or pool in one's consciousness with respect to who, how, and why we came to the subject matter of existentialism.  

Sarah Bakewell's "At The Existentialist Café" is a very good in-depth read on the subject matter of Sartre and others such as Simone de Beauvoir, Martin Heidegger, Karl Jaspers, as well as Albert Camus, Boris Vian and the underrated Maurice Merleau-Ponty.  On the latter, Bakewell seems to be the most pleased with as a personality (he liked dancing and the social nightlife) and his work as a philosopher.   

Bakewell knows her territory well, and this is an extremely well-researched book on not only the writings that came out by these super-smart individuals but also capturing the time and anxiety of the 20th century.   A book for someone who knows nothing of the subject matter as well as one who's a fan of the Existentialist writer.   She never dumbs down the information, yet this book is written for the masses who are curious about the culture around Sartre and friends.   The arguments, the battles, and the friendship are all displayed on these pages.   A very good book. 

September 26, 2014

September 26, 2014

When I wake up in the morning, I have the taste of fear in my mouth. “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.” I sometimes feel like I have no teeth, and my tongue is not part of my mouth.  I can never get out of bed quickly.  I need at least ten minutes to think where I am, and what my purpose here in life is or in this house. “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” One…Two…Three, that’s enough for now.  I never was a fan of strong coffee.  In actuality, I always prefer the coffee served in diners.  What I like about it is that it’s not precious.  It is something to drink while you concentrate on something else.  Or I should say, I’m just focusing on the space between objects.  “To think is to confine yourself to a single thought that one day stands still like a star in the world’s sky. ”

I reflect on the moments passing, as if I was dancing with my shadow.  I have a fear of moments of not being noted or paid attention to. When I look back, it is always the direction of my past. If I look forward, I’m deeply into the present.  The future is the entrance of my door. “If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms upon life, then you must accept the terms it offers you.” Yet, I stand very still while stirring my coffee in the morning.

There is something that I want, but I can’t have it.  “Longing is the agony of the nearness of the distant.” I had some money, but now I don’t. “Part of the money went on gambling, and part of it went on women.  The rest I spent foolishly.” I tend to live in the moment, but alas, does that moment love me?  The indifference of the world, or time passing, I really can’t recall a moment when I first realized that I love you.  Or at the very least, the thought of loving you.   “I like having a secret life.” “I’ve had quite a few moments I’ve liked, so it’s good enough. ” So what I have I should keep, and then perhaps I can recall it back again, like an old friend who never lets me down.  

Only in the middle of the night, and I start having my dreams, that I realize that I plenty to fear.  All my defense mechanisms are down, and being repaired by the time I wake up in the morning.  But when I do wake up suddenly from a dream, or nightmare, it is the worst feeling of dread.  There are two lives.  One is here, writing to you, and the other is when I lose myself in a dream, and I can’t control the images and people that invade my life with my eyes closed.  I have awoken to see shadows briefly go by me, and I’m never sure if it is a part of the dream, or perhaps I’m truly not alone in this world.  There is a bridge between dream and awaken life, but due to my vertigo, I don’t want to look down.   The bridge is just a high wire and my balance is rather bad.  One thing that soothes my soul is music.   “I frequently hear music in the very heart of noise.” “You can never get silence anywhere nowadays, have you noticed? ”