In Search Of...?

"But, I want you to give me-- to give your spirit to me-- that golden light which is you--which you don't know--give it to me--" from Women in Love, D.H. Lawrence

I spent the last month or so reading Women in Love, and I experienced many instances of "Yes, yes exactly" along on the way. The fact that the movie of the same name is very aesthetically pleasing probably didn't hurt my affection, either. So often, that dark thing called What I Want is totally nebulous until the right combinations of words or images, in a book or song or movie, help give it its true shape. Then I'm struck with an epiphany; I know it is always what I wanted. Eureka. Insomnia is abated, if only temporarily, while I set to work obtaining What I Want.

For a long time (I'm talking most of my teen years here), my most penetrating desires could be expressed succinctly and perfectly with this early 60s folk-pop song.

I think I may have had (or at least, was on the long and muddy path to) What I Want before, both in the loftier, philosophical D.H. Lawrence sense, and in the simplistic cornball "Angel on My Shoulder" sense. So now what? How goes the "obtaining" part? Imagine me with a dog-eared copy of a Penguin Classic in one hand and a half drunk mug of Constant Comment in the other, searching for the answer now. A sillier picture you never saw, but just between you and me, I haven't slept well in days.


2008: Mission to Render Myself Totally Ineffectual Is A Success

A quick timeout to acknowledge my self destruction:

Guilty of putting all of my eggs in one basket, the horse before the cart, and several other adages related to poor planning, I face, yet again, the monumental task of deciding what I want to do for money and where I want to live. Evidently, having no previous forklift driving experience can really hinder your ability to find meaningful work! I find myself pulled in so many different directions, that usually I just wind up wallowing in indecision and, let's face it, self-pity. I spend a lot of time on self-indulgent, masturbatory tasks like rating every single song in my itunes library, writing down dreams that I had (Nyquil + B Vitamins= hideous psychadelic landscapes), and worst of all, writing blogs. Refusing to build a life for myself here out of pure obstinacy and for fear of getting stuck here has left me, well, stuck here. Once a week I leave town to visit one of my many far-flung friends, wondering, "Should I live here? Should I get a job here?" then going back home to 4139 Pity Party Lane, Sacramento, CA before any progress can be made. At what point did I decide that I can't do anything by myself, and how do I unlearn this? Advice, lectures, and silent disapproval are welcome.

Indulge me now, as I'm so fond of doing for myself, and watch this Dean Martin clip. The song is about being pathetic, so it's the official anthem of this post.