Letting Go May 18, 2010Posted by The Typist in 504, cryptical envelopment, New Orleans, NOLA, The Narrative, Toulouse Street.
“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.