I didn't fish today. Going through North Jersey, I passed over the Passaic, but if I fish below the falls soon, I'm not interested yet. And Burnham Park Ponds remain thickly vegetated, no Hurricane Irene to have blown it out.
Wanted to pick up on a line from yesterday and give this post the outrageous title that might have caught your eye. Alarm, excitement, and awe is banalized, trivialized, and commodified as more and less interchangable one liners today, life reduced to dull and tired expectancies, though the 1960's enjoyed a genuine awakening that had to do with more than the war, not that we would ever go back--that authenticity was a moving forward. People think of the drugs, but those times were futuristic with visions of technogical mastery and joy united. I thought I would plug an ancient idea in cyberspace and if anyone would try to commodify the dead, good luck.
Ever hear someone say, "It's dead," to describe a joyless endeavor or relationship? Nowadays, most people seem to feel this way about life. But suppose that death is no excuse and resurrection necessary, as if a dead life were lived on borrowed time, as if these self-described dead are just fed chips until the dam breaks and they have to run. Suppose that the ordinary man is the dead man, if he calls himself that.
But how do you know you're ordinary? Yesterday, I had no heart to get out on the river and fish, let alone mount the bank and march like a soldier in shorts through dense thickets of briars, breaking past the abrasions so fast they barely scratched, getting to the other side of darkness and down the bank again into water, new water to explore, which returned me to life as I described in the previous post.
If instead of saying, "It's dead"--about anything--you say, "I will," then you are a man, not an ordinance.