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Letting Go May 18, 2010

Posted by The Typist in 504, cryptical envelopment, New Orleans, NOLA, The Narrative, Toulouse Street.
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“Once, I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity– I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples.” – Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

I am thinking of posting this up on the wall of my cube just to see if anyone at the Counting House notices. Hell, I’ve been passing off a quote from famous UFO fraud Frank Scully as business wisdom in the signature on the bottom of my email for years. I often get compliments on it.

I spent last night watching an old friend’s computer-based slide show of their escape from America by sailboat, the red rock Baja landscape against the cerulean Sea of Cortez, idyllic Gauguin islands along the coasts of Central America. It made me feel so happy for them, like the prisoner watching the reprieved man walk past his cell.

I think today at lunch I really need to take a long, slow walk down Royal Street and remind myself why I’m here, the sense of living in a place where history does not bear down upon us but somehow floats on the soft land and buoys us up, imparting a slight list and roll to the street. I will stop and eat something that has not come out of a food court stream tray and is not wrapped in the logos of its makers. I will look in the windows and see not I-Pods or running shoes or some other mass produced fashion but books, art, antique jewelry. I will go stare at Blue Dog and try to puzzle out the nature of his thousand yard stare.

I will try not to look too closely at the people all around who clearly do not work on the 18 floor of Place Sans Charm, lest I never go back.

Comments»

1. Glenn - May 18, 2010

Oh, dude, you got it bad.

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2. Paul Benton - May 18, 2010

you know, today i felt almost the same exact way. but it was also one of the best days ive had this year – maybe the best. thanks for the henry miller…almost no one knows who he is anymore – but what the hell.

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3. Wendy Rodrigue - May 18, 2010

I wish this was a FB post so I could hit ‘like’ or ‘relate’ or some such. In the meantime, if you haven’t read it, I recommend Tom Robbins’ Jitterbug Perfume. Without a doubt it’s Miller inspired, in spirit if not for a fact- Then again, you might feel worse afterwards.

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4. Mark Folse - May 18, 2010

One of my good friends thought for the longest time that the characters in Jitterbug Perfume were my great aunts Gert and Sadie, who lived in the apartment that became the Hove’ Parfumier. I had to remind her that they were not contemporaneous.

The oddest things cheer me up. Charles Bukowsi, for example: pure despair for the savor of it like a cheap cigar.

I love that book and Tom Robbins, but I’m in a frame of mind in which the idea of talking insects and inanimate objects doesn’t seem terribly appealing; more like a symptom.

I didn’t make it far enough down Royal today to study Blue Dog’s eyes, but at the moment I think I’m beginning to understand then. I will try to make it that far tomorrow before I let the Crackberry throw its mental boleadora around my legs and drag me back to the office.

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5. Wendy Rodriguea - May 18, 2010

Perhaps a better choice, just because it exists, from Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1972): http://fiction.eserver.org/short/eyes-of-a-blue-dog.html

In the meantime (and to my husband’s great relief), I actually walked out of the theatre ten minuets into the Cracken thing, so I really can’t relate, but last night we did see Robin Hood. It’s basically Gladiator II, which I found to be a good thing — with Cate Blanchet thrown in as a bonus.

Oh, and we were in Big Sur this week, Henry Miller land, and the only place in the world where it’s commonplace to see guys walking down the highway barefoot, and with a guitar on their back. I keep Miller’s complete collection of works out here, because, well, it’s the right thing to do.

….I’m not sure if you intended it, but your comment section inspires this great stream of consciousness thing. A nice change for me, and pretty fun. Nevertheless, I promise not to overdo it, to post too often. But thanks anyway — and may your week improve-

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6. Mark Folse - May 19, 2010

Comments are part of what makes it worthwhile to do this. You can look in your stats and see people are visiting. Comments tell you people are reading.

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7. Marco - May 19, 2010

Dang!

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8. samjasper - May 19, 2010

Peters is right. You need a new job. Perhaps Lucky Dog vendor who publishes books after his shift.

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9. Martin - May 19, 2010

A second thanks for the Miller.
I met him one time. Back in the early 50’s. I was hangin’ at a friend’s place in Berkeley. Borrowed his car and drove down to Big Sur. I was finishing supper at Nepenthe and getting ready to drive back up the coast to the City when someone invited me to a party up on the ridge. So I went. Someone else walked me over to this guy and said, “This is Henry Miller.” I looked at him. He looked at me – sort of sideways in a WTF? manner – and went back to his conversation.
Y’know, PB’s right, almost nobody knows who he is anymore.

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