Wish You Were Here

‘So, how are you getting on in San Jose?’ I asked.
‘Actually,’ I answered, ‘I’m getting itchy feet. It’s a bit sterile here, affluent but soulless. It’s just shiny shops and shiny bars…’
‘Poor you, it sounds awful…’
I sniffed the air. ‘Do you smell sarcasm?’
‘Some people would kill for shiny shops. People who live in slums for example...’
I ignored me. ‘A shopping mall is my idea of hell, but I don‘t think it’s what Nietzche meant by suffering...’
‘Christ on a bike. It’s not life and death, it’s a 40% off sale at GAP.’
‘Anyway, I think it’s time to move on. It’s time to hit the road and see what happens because…’
‘Please don’t say because “the road is life”.’
‘… because “the road is life”.’
‘Oh, puleeze. You’re such a pseud.’
‘Screw you,’ I said taking a step forward.
‘No, screw you,’ I said taking a step back.
‘You have delusions of poetry. Have you not finished this little escape from reality?’
‘I’m not escaping it.’ I frowned again. ‘I’m going towards it.’
I stared at me. ‘Oh, really? And what exactly are you going towards?’
‘I was dissatisfied with what I was doing before. Now, I’m away from everyday clutter, I’m experiencing different things, I have the time to ask myself some questions and refocus...’
‘And how’s that working out for ya?’
‘It‘s not easy, but “the unexamined life is not worth living” as said Socrates.’
‘Pseud. I think you just need to get laid.’
‘Screw you.’
‘Yes, my point exactly. Listen, you can get into a lot of trouble thinking too much...’
‘You can get into a lot of trouble thinking too little.’
I thought about this.
‘And I’m going to stop writing this.’
‘What?’
‘Well, it started as a writing exercise and also to explore the things that interested me. But when I’m doing interesting things I don’t want to write, I just want to do them. It’s becoming a duty, I’m becoming a tool of the tool.’
‘You are a tool. Besides, I thought it was just a vain attempt at recognition and validation.’
‘Screw you.’
‘How long are you stopping for?’
‘I don’t know. I’m taking a digital detox. Maybe one day it will all make a good story.’
‘I can’t wait...’
‘This is Sebastian, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.’
‘Ah, finally, a pop-culture quote. You’re still a pseud.’
‘Screw you.’
***The two Sebastians roll across the floor fighting. Lights fade to black.***

Use Less

'We are determined to be starved before we are hungry.'
I read this while I was having an afternoon muffin which just goes to show how wrong Thoreau could be.

Art. Culture. Technology.

It all comes together in San Jose, the capital of Silicon Valley and California’s oldest city. San Jose can’t seem to shake its pioneering ways, pushing into the 21st century as a centre of stunning technological innovation and a vanguard for contemporary visual and performing arts. Walking around the city center pulls San Jose’s intersecting qualities into bright relief. Palm-lined boulevards cut a broad swath through slick mirrored walls, while farm-fresh produce fills open-air markets year ’round. Sidewalks teem with a vibrant café culture. At night, everything glitters. Count the ways San Jose shines.
And Angelina Jolie visits every house to do the ironing.

The Road Is Life

"... the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."
I'm in Jack Kerouac Alley in San Francisco.
My plan after here is to walk to Telegraph Hill and then to the Wharf and maybe grab a coffee -regular with milk- before doubling back and catching the number 30 bus to the train station as I'd rather not get caught in the rush hour.

Saturday, Lunchtime, Bar

"USA... USA... USA..." Chanting.
"Come on England!" A few lone voices.
Gerrard. Chanting goes quiet.
Feeling positive. "Come on... Oh, bugger!"
"USA... USA... USA..."

Nicaraguan Blend

It's San Jose, CA, and I'm sitting in the sun drinking a coffee.
There's a Gucci shop in front of me. Brooks Brothers to the right. Tumi to the left.
A shiny Corvette crawls by, an immaculate blonde at the wheel.
The man at the table next to me is talking into his BlackBerry. "The data is clean, Tom," he says.
I'm thinking about Father Felipe's wife back in the slum. I'm wondering how she is, if she is getting any treatment.
"Hunter," shouts a woman nearby to her son, "don't play in the fountain."
I take a sip of coffee and watch the little boy laughing and giggling.

You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense

So I've been thinking further about happiness and friendships, about people back home and people met on the road. Sorry, but it's a big country to cross, there's time to think, what else am I going to do? Re-arrange the playlist on my MP3 player?
Aristotle said that although the good man is self-sufficing -i.e. the man of virtue, he of balance and moderation-, his highest activities cannot be exercised in isolation but as part of a group or society, and that a life lacks completeness if without friends.
Hmm, not sure what my 'highest activities' are, does getting rat-faced and talking shit count? And what type of friends is he talking about? Thoreau warned that we idealise friendships and that it is only 'When (friends) say farewell, then indeed we begin to keep them company.' That gives me a headache...
Should I put Sneaker Pimps in Easy Listening or Alternative Rock?

Eudaimonia

Crossing the vast American landscape, I was reading Aristotle on the nature of happiness.
I'm interested in the question if happiness can be real if it isn't shared. In other words, is it only by some other(s) having that same emotion that makes it true? I'm also interested in the seeming dichotomy between the pursuit of short term happiness -often just passing distractions- and that of the long term achieved by fulfilling one's potential. Aristotle thought that a life of balance and moderation would more likely lead to the latter, he saw happiness more as an activity than as a state. But this, upon reflection, makes me wonder about my purchase of the cargo pants. I mean, so far, they have made me happy on a utilitarian front -with the big pockets for coins and pens and fruit- and thus in the short term; but they have been found wanting on the increasing my ruggedness and attracting ladies front, i.e. in the long term. Using Aristotelean logic, my cargo pants are a state and not an activity and I now believe that I was misled by that shop assistant on Oxford Street who said that I should 'buy the green ones.' Furthermore, I now question how they could possibly lead to real happpiness if they are unshared? Fortunately, I kept the receipt so I can check what the refund rules say about this.
Travel really does broaden the mind.

Notes From The Interstate III

Crossing the States, it’s clear that many places out here have no actual ‘here’, just shops selling T-shirts with the name of the ‘here’...
South Dakota… Finish crossing the Great American Prairie to the Badlands and suddenly it's a vast, rocky, Moon-like landscape. Into Wall Drug to see the dinosaur blow smoke every 15 minutes. On to Deadwood where Wild Bill Hickock is re-shot every two hours. Mount Rushmore covered in fog, Washington’s nose just visible. Dwarfed in size by world’s largest monument in progress, the Crazy Horse memorial, who do those cheeky Indians think they are?
Wyoming… A close encounter with the Devil’s Tower. Bowling in Cody. Into the Rockies and Yellowstone: smoking hot springs, boiling mud holes, Old Faithful, bears, bison, a snowball fight… Difficult to put a tent up when a tornado passes. Hiking in the Grand Teton (from the French…) mountain range. A rodeo in Jackson, yee-haw!
Idaho… Wake me up when we cross into the next state…
Utah… Floating in the Great Salt Lake. Looking for several teetotal wives to marry. Not breaking any speed records on the salt flats.
Nevada… Keep north, no money for Vegas. Breakdown in Winnemuca.
California… Into the Sierra Nevada to drop jaw at Yosemite. Hurt neck looking at giant sequoias. Wine tasting in Sonoma. San Francisco…
Hm, now what?

Kill The Headlights And Put It In Neutral

I'm sitting in a convertible.
Soy un perdedor
I'm crossing the Golden Gate Bridge.
I'm a loser, baby
The wind is in my messy hair. The sky is clear blue. The city beyond lies half covered in sea fog.
So why don't you kill me?
I have no job, no prospects, and no clue.
Loser by Beck is on the radio. Loud.
God, this feels good.