I am un chien andalusia.
Stupid metaphysics. Can’t you just leave me alone? Can’t I take a break from all of your abstract concepts? Can’t I just stop asking all the big questions? Seriously. You suck. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck you. Fuck you right in your metaphysical, potentially nonexistent (because what is existence, anyway) ass.
I guess it all started with Einstein’s Dreams. Little did I know when I picked up that intriguing little book on concepts of time (and the ways in which time is experienced), that it would turn out to be merely the first link in a chain of metaphysical works that would somehow find their way to me, one after another, each asking big questions and providing no answers. As if I had the power to answer them myself. Just what I needed. Thanks.
After Einstein’s Dreams came Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Now, I did know what I was getting myself into in picking up that one. I’d wanted to read it for a while, and at that point, I was still feeling fresh in terms of metaphysical conundrums. And besides, that book is billed as something that will ultimately help you navigate the murky waters of finding your place in this cruel and modern world, right? Sure. If by helping you mean questioning everything and determining nothing. Then, by all means, this book is life changing!
So at that point, I was feeling a little weary of metaphysical theories of time and reality, and thought I’d switch it up a bit. Enter Slaughter-House Five. Awesome book. Loved reading it. But shit, even that one brings up questions of time and experience and existence in the world. In fact, the first line of the first “real” chapter is something to the effect of “Billy Pilgrim came un-stuck in time.” (Sorry, don’t have a copy here to get the exact quote.) Well, crap. Damn you, Billy Pilgrim!
Next was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Need I even comment on this one?
Where to turn? Based on my last experience with Japanese fiction, I thought that would be the perfect genre. A nice twisted tale full of blood and gore could be just what the doctor ordered. But being the racist western Caucasian I am, I neglected to question the faulty assumption that all Japanese fiction would meet these criteria. Oops. And thus I plowed on through Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, probably the most metaphysical of metaphysical novels I’ve ever read. Rock!
Oh, did I mention that I loved all of these books? Seriously. I’d recommend them all. That’s because I am, by nature, a questioner. It’s just that sometimes the questioning becomes all I can focus on, and makes it impossible to come up with any answers. It’s exhausting. So I’m tired now, and am giving novels a short break. Instead, I think I’ll read about cognitive behavioral therapy. Yeah, that sounds nice. No metaphysics in there, that’s for sure! Those dudes aren’t into the whys so much as the simple becauses. Right on. "You feel this way, because you think that way." Sigh. That sounds nice.
I guess it all started with Einstein’s Dreams. Little did I know when I picked up that intriguing little book on concepts of time (and the ways in which time is experienced), that it would turn out to be merely the first link in a chain of metaphysical works that would somehow find their way to me, one after another, each asking big questions and providing no answers. As if I had the power to answer them myself. Just what I needed. Thanks.
After Einstein’s Dreams came Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Now, I did know what I was getting myself into in picking up that one. I’d wanted to read it for a while, and at that point, I was still feeling fresh in terms of metaphysical conundrums. And besides, that book is billed as something that will ultimately help you navigate the murky waters of finding your place in this cruel and modern world, right? Sure. If by helping you mean questioning everything and determining nothing. Then, by all means, this book is life changing!
So at that point, I was feeling a little weary of metaphysical theories of time and reality, and thought I’d switch it up a bit. Enter Slaughter-House Five. Awesome book. Loved reading it. But shit, even that one brings up questions of time and experience and existence in the world. In fact, the first line of the first “real” chapter is something to the effect of “Billy Pilgrim came un-stuck in time.” (Sorry, don’t have a copy here to get the exact quote.) Well, crap. Damn you, Billy Pilgrim!
Next was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Need I even comment on this one?
Where to turn? Based on my last experience with Japanese fiction, I thought that would be the perfect genre. A nice twisted tale full of blood and gore could be just what the doctor ordered. But being the racist western Caucasian I am, I neglected to question the faulty assumption that all Japanese fiction would meet these criteria. Oops. And thus I plowed on through Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, probably the most metaphysical of metaphysical novels I’ve ever read. Rock!
Oh, did I mention that I loved all of these books? Seriously. I’d recommend them all. That’s because I am, by nature, a questioner. It’s just that sometimes the questioning becomes all I can focus on, and makes it impossible to come up with any answers. It’s exhausting. So I’m tired now, and am giving novels a short break. Instead, I think I’ll read about cognitive behavioral therapy. Yeah, that sounds nice. No metaphysics in there, that’s for sure! Those dudes aren’t into the whys so much as the simple becauses. Right on. "You feel this way, because you think that way." Sigh. That sounds nice.
posted by P/O at 5/02/2006 02:48:00 PM
4 Comments:
please do...up the reading on the cognitive behavioral therapy ha ha maybe i need it :) i hardly read at all so it's impressive to me that your fingers slide through pages like vodka over ice
and to think.... I like reading books to get lost somewhere else.. lol you like to understand why you're so lost. =)
Oh boy, tell me about it! I've been running my experiments with metaphysical books since .. oh .. ummm .. 2 years. Yeah. And, I am left with nothing but questions and more questions and question again.
It's fun being lost though.
Sometimes.
Oof. I went through one of those reading phases not too long ago (mine also included Slaughterhouse Five) and found myself totally tied in mental and emotional knots at the end. It was worth it, but my friends in the 'hood suggested Jane Austin as a follow up and I have to agree that it was the perfect fix. Pride and Prejudice, man: soap opra in book form. Plus, I love the Britishisms and the favourable addition of "u"s in unexpected places and colours. :)
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