i identify a bit with dostoyevski’s “ridiculous man”, from the short story, “dream of a ridiculous man”. and also the “underground man” from his “notes from the underground”. the underground man lived in his stinky small hovel or apartment in moscow, not wishing to be a part of the outside world. he was the first prototype of the hippy, i like to think. starting out more as an isolated, self absorbed, disgruntled with himself, misfit, i like to think of myself as a happy person, but i usually smile only if a joke is funny or i see something quaint or heart touching. so, my expression has fallen as i have grown older into a frown without me being aware of it all the time. i think i inherited it from my father who always looked disgusted. we would ask him, what’s the matter dad? he would always say, “oh, nothing”. he was somewhat honest, and i believed him.
today, as an example of something quaint, i was walking towards my treehouse and i was passing 8 young pomegranite trees along the path, when i spotted something black. it was a bird just sitting there looking at me, at about the same height. i had never experienced this before, where the bird didn’t just fly away. i gave it some attention, maybe it was injured, but i didn’t wish to scare at, so after staring at each other awhile, i just continued on. but thinking back, i think i managed to smile inwardly at the serendipidous quality of the occasion and the matter of fact look on the birds face, i don’t know if the smile made it to my face though.
i mounted the 2 flights up to my airy aerie (save u the trouble, its a nest built high up by a bird of prey, i.e. eagle, or did u already know that?), the treehouse is supported and built into a group of trees along the chamba river. i do like it here.
do u know that more people commit suicide who have money than those without. this is a little factoid, i just made up, but it seems like it could be true. i wonder if anyone is keeping track of suicides and keeping profiles of them, even perhaps, explaining what drove them to such an awful choice. i mention this, because i know someone who is seriously flirting with the idea. for me, its so tragic to imagine how much some people are suffering to want to do that. i need to remember how each breath is so sumptuous, so precious, such a joy to be able to breathe. almost all breaths pass by unnoticed, unrecognized, and unappreciated, until your on your deathbed struggling for each breath.,
in “the dream of a ridiculous man the character plans to commit suicide and sits at his table at night while 2 candles burn, with a pistol lying in front of him. however, every night he falls asleep unawares before he can do it. but this one night he is sure he is going to do it, but again, he falls asleep, only to have a dream, where in the dream, he shoots himself thru the heart, and that is the beginning of the story and thru the dream after you have read what it is, you can see how it transformed him into this radiant being, who is full of gratitude for his life and quite enthusiastically happy. aren’t most of us looking for this kind of “silver bullet”? something that will put us over the top, so to speak, to stop us all from wasting our lives, our time on earth. i would hate to die with regrets.
however, i believe that there is no redemption for the underground man, actually, its been so long since i read it. i can hardly remember (i probably should go look it up, but i don’t want u to think that i am working too hard to write this, you might feel obligated to read this, rather than simply absorbed. but its incredible that the whole counter culture was born from a fictional character. though, i really doubt whether that was the case, as there have been “bohemian types” throughout the ages, and one might imagine way back, that they made up the majority of the population. he should probably only get credit for coining the term, “underground man”. as a youth, he was my favorite author. now, i hardly read books, only things on the internet. i would relish a good book, but my current lifestyle doesn’t have the space usually for leisurely reading. there are too many things i want to do and too many things i want to know. i am constantly learning. still, i hardly know how to do anything; to be candidly honest. its like if someone was wanting to learn how to swim and was reading books on it, and working up the courage to put his toe in the water.
please don’t mistake these thoughts as mine. this is a ficticious character, ok, i admit i am one too. the only difference is that my living character developed unconsciously, reacting to all the programming and conditioning that makes up modern day lives. and this ficticious one, i consciously created. there is some overlap, of course, but i would rather remain private. outside of the government, i have no idea who reads this blather.
i hope u r not waiting for a story. i am anti story. of course, i love stories, this is real life like, more than just a story. it is a story without a story. its a slice, that’s it. if u want a story, read a book. this is conversation which is like a monologue, simply because u r not here. i am just doing my best without u. i hope u understand. i really need to go outside, its so beautiful, as always, but i also want to come to climactic ending. i want to make your forbearance with me rewarding. honestly, i am grateful for your attention. i want u to feel something for this character that i am portraying or just being. can u know me from my thoughts? the thoughts are not me and they don’t belong to me. they just passed somehow into my fingers and i type it all out here. its an amazing sequence of events and you are the beneficiary and me too. because i am a reader just like u. i like to read my own thoughts when i am not trying to accomplish anything, except for writing, of course. i can get a sense of the persona that i identify with so much. to get to know myself better. do u know urself well? clasp one hand with the other and shake it, say, how do u do.
there is a mental illness where one hand is constantly hitting the other, boxing. it is a personal civil war. it is one of the most ridiculous psychological diseases known to man and quite rare. i saw it once in a circus sideshow. it was a drag out battle, both hands were very evenly matched. it ended when one hand landed a heavy blow to the head which had had lost all control of the hands. they lay in a clump on the floor, the two hands and the rest of the body, there was no winner.