Fire of my Loins
''Bitches leave.'' Food for the Intellectual Net Traveler


Tuesday, September 03, 2002

It's the night of August the 30th and I'm lying here in the bed and the room that I occupied for four years of my childhood. It's hot and humid; reminding me of why I left this concrete jungle called Los Angeles in the first place. At the same time, as the sun sets over the Pacific horizon, I realize how much I miss the beautiful sunsets here. Often, I am not too sure of what I'm looking for when I am in L.A. What is Los Angeles? Are people from the City of Angels really more superficial? Or is it what us "Berkleyans" would like to believe to make us look less stuffy and more down-to-earth. The Los Angeles that Philip Marlowe experiences seems to be a million times more interesting than the L.A. I know. I'm leaving for Berkeley tomorrow, but I would like to stay longer. I guess since you're here near the end of this entry, I should leave you with a gift for "bearing" through my rant. Here is a chapter from Moby Dick, referred to me by Professor Arturo Peres-Reyes of Haas Business School. See if you can figure out what Professor Peres-Reyes and I are discussing from the excerpt:

From The Lee Shore, Moby Dick, by Herman Melville.

"Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn.

When on that shivering winter's night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years' dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet. Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that's kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship's direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights 'gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea's landlessness again; for refuge's sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe!

Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God- so better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!"

I thought it would be interesting to put down after each journal entry the book I am currently reading and the song I'm listening to. Perhaps one can find some deeper meaning in what one reads and listens to in relation to one's personality and character.

current book: 100 Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
current song: MvSm album, Miriam Yeung


posted by Roger | 9:21 AM
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