let us strive for the company of immortals
My aunt arrived at our house tonight, and she'll be here until New Year's. I don't mind her at all, but I'm in a darned mood, which started when I went to go pick her up from the airport with my dad. I get carsick very easily, and listening to my dad talk to me about the job search (despite my consistent requests not to) made me wish for a six car pileup. I spent the rest of the evening curled up in bed feeling particularly antisocial. I probably seemed like an awful host, but I don't know if it could have been helped. My parents drive me up a wall these days and removing myself from interactions with them seems like the most logical solution. The thing that annoys me the most is that they seem to either not know or not care why I'm irked, and I genuinely don't know which is worse. They say some things that make me believe they're just ignorant, but I've given them so many warnings by now I don't think I'll ever get through their impenetrable skulls if I haven't done so already.
While in my self-imposed isolation I read some really great Visa posts: we were voyagers, strive for the company of immortals, and the tavern and the temple. His writing is undeniably beautiful, but what sets him apart from other great writers for me is how reading his writing always sets my brain ablaze. There are so many gems he quotes or comes up with that inspire me to write and make me feel alive; I want to collect them all so I can savor over and over again.
I highly recommend reading those posts, but if you don't have the time, here are some of my highlights:
"You think you are alone, and as the years go by, if the stars on your side, you may discover that you are at the center of a vast circle of invisible friends whom you will never get to know, but who love you. And that is an immense reward." ā Jorge Luis Borges (1976)
āThe past is never dead. It's not even past. All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born, webs of heredity and environment, of desire and consequence, of history and eternity. Haunted by wrong turns and roads not taken, we pursue images perceived as new but whose providence dates to the dim dramas of childhood, which are themselves but ripples of consequence echoing down the generations. The quitodian demands of life distract from this resonance of images and events, but some of us feel it always.ā ā William Faulkner (1951)
Having a sense of history does not mean simply acquiescing to the authority of the past. Emerson reminds us: āMeek young men grow up in libraries, believing it is their duty to accept the views which Cicero, which Locke, which Bacon, have given; forgetful that Cicero, Locke, and Bacon were only young men in libraries when they wrote these books.ā Our task is not to submit mindlessly to the authority of the superior intellects of our predecessors, but to honestly consider their work, and build on it. Nobody worth hero-worshipping would want you to worship them. They would want you to become heroic yourself.
We are the dreams of our predecessors made flesh. We owe it to the best of our ancestors to do what they could not. We have access to tools and opportunities that they did not. We owe it to them to shine as brightly as we possibly can, to use the flame of our spirit to warm and enlighten others, and to continue boldly, ferociously, to build on their work, to expand the great, ceaseless human endeavor of learning and becoming.
To paraphrase David Ogilvy, let us strive for the company of immortals.
(from we were voyagers)
Writing is a tonic for me too when I do it rightā when I stop worrying about what other people think, and simply write what comes naturally for me. Iām now reminded as well about what Dave Chappelle said to Jerry Seinfeld about how āthe guy onstage is the real me.ā I feel that way too! Itās everyday life thatās comparatively insincere, with all of its polite fictions and tedious posturing and worrying about other peopleās feelings. The guy I am in my writing, is the more honest, more earnest, truer form of me. Which isnāt to say that I am ignorant about how my writing will likely be perceived ā but it doesnāt trouble me as much. Because this is my domain. This is āmy houseā! Here I get to set the terms of engagement, and if you donāt like it you are very cordially encouraged to fuck off and do whatever you like instead!
(from the tavern and the temple)
And how could I neglect to mention this masterpiece? This is my new favorite picture, even if the typo drives me absolutely insane.
I miss a lot of things about being in a relationship, but more than anything, I miss having someone to share great reads with who I could trust to read the things I loved. It feels like such a pity for me to read things like Visa's "voltaic verses" and not have anyone to share them with. Sure, I can share links here, but I have no way of knowing if anybody will read them, and most of the time I assume they don't. No hard feelingsāI understand essays of this ilk are generally quite time consuming and I don't expect everyone to have the same taste as me.
Usually when I'd share articles or essays with my ex she'd pin them on our Discord chat and let me know her thoughts once she got around to reading them. Even though most of the time she didn't have too much to say, just the fact that she read them and that I could reference them in our conversations meant a lot to me. I don't know which of the five love languages this falls underāit's not so much quality time as it is quality attentionābut whatever it is, it has to be one of my favorite ways for people to show they care about me. I think the biggest perk of being my friend is getting a free handpicked subscription of content I find interesting, and I want nothing more than someone with whom to build a joint library of great thoughts, full of voltaic verses, operas, essays, poems, everything that makes life worth living.
When I broke up with my ex back in March I told my friends it took me by surprise. Looking back, our respective to-read lists and unanswered emails had piled up without us noticing; we slowly started neglecting them as life wore down our love. I don't know if I can call them warning signs, because I know it's natural for couples to lose some of that honeymoon fervor as the weeks turn into years. But must it always be like this? Are we cursed to choose between losing love and taking it for granted as time grinds it down?
Oh, I almost forgotāmerry Christmas! Seeing all the Christmas posts pop up on Bear's Discover page made me smile.
