frenchie

[stilltrucking]

don't know what i want
don't even know what i need
if i need it
i don't want it
it demeans with the desire
i like to call it asceticism
but i've aways been a crock
it's deeper than that - more complex
one of those existential deals
that frenchie used to talk about
between croissants and espresso

I never was smartre enough for sartre
I like his short stories a lot
never could read his big books

But you explained it to me so poetically
I think I understand a bit more
you distilled it down so nicely

ramble of a double minded compulsive typist to follow:


I don't know why I am always comparing Camus to Sartre. Red necked girls moo for Camus I guess.

You ever feel like you are swimming against the current in a river of molasses?
I heard a comparative embryology professor say that for the spermatozoa to reach the ovum is comparable to a man swimming through 14 miles of molasses. Yeah I know what I want, something to do like this compulsive typing while I try not to think about sex twenty four hours a day.

thanks for the nice poem and the inspiration
a reason to keep on typing
sincerely
jt



I can't forget that college woman, a long legged slim tall beautiful, she wanted to be swept off her feet by Camus

more my speed
it puts it right out there for me
that dainty tid bit on the end of my fork

[stilltrucking]

posters remorse I would delete it but you probably already saw it.'


Dam apostrophes. Still thinking about that poem

this the only thing I have ever read by him

http://chabrieres.pagesperso-orange.fr/ ... ewall.html

I don't know why I get into these either or loops?
like arguing about ford or chevies, the dodgers or the mets.

I suppose it is the fact that I keep hearing him called a "communist" I am so stupid about politics.

[SadLuckDame]

Now we see her in her red shaded legs,
all that's see-through
is Frenchie.

I think of her lips.

He takes her leg under the table.
They're at a comedy club
and the room is smokie.
She likes his take.

"Let's not grow too old
we'll keep a lot of pictures
and no mirrors." she says.

His hand is still there.

Thank yous, to both of you
for having this to be in with.

What a nice day it is inside today.

[stilltrucking]

A good day to be out here. Seventy four degrees sun is out . Thanks

frenchie and simone were sweethearts

An Example of Sartre's Concept of 'Bad Faith'; or, Why Simone de Beauvoir Had To Go To Chicago To Discover Multiple Orgasms With Nelson Algren [by Jim Cummins]

This is a passage from Part II, "Patterns of Bad Faith," from Chapter Two, "Bad Faith," in Jean-Paul Sartre's Being And Nothingness (Editions Gallimard, 1943; English translation, The Philosophical Library, Inc., 1956

"....We shall say that this woman is in bad faith. But we see immediately that she uses various procedures in order to maintain herself in this bad faith. She has disarmed the actions of her companion by reducing them to being only what they are; that is, to existing in the mode of the in-itself. But she permits herself to enjoy his desire, to the extent that she will apprehend it as not being what it is, will recognize its transcendence. Finally while sensing profoundly the presence of her own body--to the point of being aroused, perhaps--she realizes herself as not being her own body, and she contemplates it as though from above as a passive object to which events can happen but which can neither provoke them nor avoid them because all its possibilities are outside of it."




The Best American Poetry

[constantine]

i've read a couple of plays by him - and things here and there through the years. sometimes, everything seems like blah blah blah when you know the abyss is at trail's end. sort of puts the kibosh on just about everything. it's a rip. but, just like scrubbing bubbles - we all go down the drain together! i call that democracy in action.

[stilltrucking]

As terrifying as ''No Exit'' may be for them, we the living know that change is always possible. The character is not finished, Sartre tells us, until his or her final choice is made.


http://theater.nytimes.com/mem/theater/ ... A96F948260

"Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble."
""and away goes trouble down the drain."

Greeky Zorba say life is trouble, only death is no trouble

I should have stayed inside today. What is wrong with me?

[constantine]

greeky zorba is one of my favorites - he's pulled me out of the blues a few times in my life.

[stilltrucking]

Movies, I wonder who made the first movie, every counry has their own creation myth.

How much of my life is me living out some scene I saw in a movie. John Wayne pretty well fucked up my self image of what is to be a man. Ha. And I use to cringe when I walked by the Grayhound station up on Howards st because the queers would whistle at my inky dinky butt.

Love that movie, Zorba twice the man John Wayne ever was.

Only John Wayne movie I can watch now days is True Grit.

Thanks for the poem, no bullshit, you really gave me an opening into his philosophy which has been too dense for me up to then.

It all going to down the drain
entropy and women
and other chaotic natural wonders.
make living so fucking interesting some times

all I stick around for is another poem, another song, a last dance, going gently into my good night.

boy is that a cliche' yet
do not go gently into...
Tennessee Williams?
Dylan Thomas
Oh well I probably need to read that poem again
in the meantime
Zorba going to teach me to dance
and then shot me while I am still happy

nice chatting with dino
thanks for the inspiration
jt

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[constantine]

i do like zorba's approach - to experience everything as if it were your first time - as opposed to your last. very similar, but different.