The reason Tumblr was really created was not your shitty gifs that prove relevant for that 1 second. It was for sharing great things. Original ideas and original content. As I lack the time commitment to create on my own, I instead give you Leo. Enjoy.
The Disillusionment of Windchasing Ethics
I was meeting up with a friend in West Hollywood last night, we met, had a drink and then I had to leave, so if you are reading, sorry for cutting short, I had something on my mind. Sitting there I was getting fidgitty, uncomfortable recognizing something in myself, and I couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling to get out. In bars, in clubs, the music of the night drowning out the sounds of the disconnected pleas for relevance and meaning. The beautiful people with the long legs accentuated by the heels, proportionally as long as the cologne is strong, the wandering eyes of the directionless, the questions shoved down, likely not to surface again till the next Saturday night. The Vacancy of Connection, you could feel it, you could see it, in the illuminated face of the iphone light, the empty look, as she scrolls with her thumb, her countenance impervious to the melodic, overmodulated beat of auditory sex. The whole scene playing out to the answers we all already know, that we would rather be someplace else, doing something else with someone else.
Most people can only find relevance outside themselves, in their children, in their cause, in their ability to process their passion into something extrinsically that feeds their soul intrinsically. I know that’s true for me, focusing on my life pursuits, doesn’t satisfy as much as playing GiJoes with my son, or looking into my daughter’s eyes and telling her how beautiful she is to me. So being out tonight, on the street where Meaning, Purpose or Relevance are searched for, either in the experience, or in the heart of someone else, or the importance of what can be got for me, me, and me, I was bludgeoned by the awareness of the emptiness that surrounds any place that has a crowd. Distracting us from ourselves.
I’ve been traveling lately, and its been also a placebo for dealing with the questions. Its also quite dehumanizing by design. The hotel life still feels sterile, the plane ride is as much and the hot towels in Lufthansa can’t wash away the shades of neglect and oversight in our minds that are stumbling towards oblivion.
Cab Fare, Boarding Pass, Passport, Smile to TSA as they make sure its you, Shoes off, Laptop separate, nothing in pockets, OPT OUT, hands apart, no I don’t need a private screening, wait for the beep, grab shit, put shoes on, grab more shit, stuff laptop back, find gate, take a leak, find out filling food that isn’t going to make your gut explode, do no cardio on the plane, pass out as if sharing a bed with a stranger(because you are), this fucking seat sucks, Ginger Ale please, seatbacks up, LAND, power phone on, PING PING PING PING PING, Triage all the messages, Grab shit, this terminal smells like dead feet, Cab Fare, Hotel Check in, Bed that looks like all the rest, shoes off, take a crap.
Its there at that moment do I get a chance to catch up with the people that mean the most to me, and we do so online, while I sit on the toilet looking at Apps on my phone. Its the only quiet time I really have anymore. I see the pictures of family, of friends, of their kids. Cousins acting like goofballs, did she really wear that?, comment, comment, then crap. This as real as it can get, while the pulse of the news feed marches on. Everything designed to take us from understanding and knowing who we are. We are just playing at who we are, living up to the Facebook, providing fodder for the Instagram. Promoting to the illusions, that this Trip and this Light are really Fantastic. But that’s all it is. Fantasy.
The more I move outwardly, the more I do outwardly, the less I look inwardly the less I understand myself. We all do it. A system of Invisible Boy Scout Badges, either real or imagined, that we collect, and attribute to our life’s pursuit.
Focault was right about society, and that there really is ’a hierarchical organization of values, accessible to everybody, but at the same time the occasion of a mechanism of selection and exclusion.’ And I do it every day. I partake in the great and small, and medium sized divides of propaganda I spit out on my phones, in my dress, in my actions, in the words I choose, in the cars I surround myself in. But for what? To distance myself from others? To showcase that, “I’m okay? ” Why? To live life to its fullest? I know that’s the cover answer, but seriously we still haven’t answered Gauguin’s Questions: ”D’où Venons Nous / Que Sommes Nous / Où Allons Nous.” They sit like a Judge, impartial to testimony, or slick-tounged lawyer or feeling, and these questions sit there, unanswered, immobile and very very quiet.
So instead of answering them, we build skyscrapers, fashion jets to go four and five times sound, parade fashion with celebrity vehicles, to take away from those questions that haunt, and buy time we can’t afford to hopefully expire before we can answer them. Essentially life becomes a game of not answering those questions. It becomes as futile as getting angry at a person on the ground wearing a uniform that matches one on a plane that’s in the air on a flight that I just missed.
We are all fighting invisible battles for relevance, for acceptance, for being understood and being connected. So why do I do so many things externally to distract me from being at peace, right here, and chilling the fuck out? Before I can answer that, a PING comes in, and off I go down the rabbit hole, looking at my pocket watch.
Leica M6 35mm Summicron Portra 160 NC