I’m in one of my moods again where I spend free time consumed on the balcony with beatnik philosophy and coffee and my moleskin as cars whirr by or crickets sing harmoniously to potential mates depending on the time of day. I quite like these moods though, rare as they may be, because they’re healthier for the mind than the drunken stupor of nightly stumbling home from the bars to collapse on the floor and groan beneath the weight of too many gin-and-tonics and not enough self-control.
In these moods I write because the mind works better when death’s premonition isn’t lingering patiently behind hangover’s distorted veil waiting for time to catch up to drink and bleed your insides out like what happened to poor Jack Kerouac on October 21, 1969 may he rest in peace. What am I going to do all night, browse online reading Audrey Hepburn quotes? But too much I think “what’s the point?” with writing because who’s going to read it when the world nowadays runs on 140 character tweets and reality shows celebritizing superficiality and ignorance and everything unsophisticated in mind?
It’s an intimidating world out there for those of us who cringe at popular television and popular music pregnant with theses of inanity – “It’s a party in the USA!” everyone shrieks in the hysterical unlearned voice of a child – but it isn’t, you know, it’s a tragedy in the USA when everything is made shiny and plastic and hollow without the sweat and dirt of realism with which this once-great nation was erected … the rotten trust fund son of Planet Earth we are, consumed with consumerism and prioritizing hedonism above all else because what does it matter that a child doesn’t understand Australia is both a country AND a continent when Americans are richer and more handsome and have more STUFF than Australians anyway?
It’s a party in the USA, they say, a party in the USA … and gone are the days of beatnik parties mulling over literary greats and Bodhidharma’s Sutras — lines of cocaine replace lines from Dante, handles of cheap vodka replace Handel’s “Water Music” — what point in writing when meditation’s quiet mind has been replaced with the calm occurring subsequent to binge’s black-out… ? I could make a website, hire some Orange County SEO, and make my way to the first page Google.com to share my thoughts, but I don’t know, really. i don’t know i don’t know i don’t know. But there’s a safety here on my balcony amidst the emerald leaves of trees removed one story from the hustle below, and I remain here sometimes disenchanted with my generation daydreaming of escape and I think maybe that’s what everybody is and was and will be trying to accomplish for ages to come. Even Buddha himself and Boddhisattvas, escaping to Nirvana because this objective world has disappointed them too much as well…