Brokeback Mountain

The theater today was full of as many showings as it could handle of the movie, matinee and evening showings held few empty seats. I suppose it was the spectacle that brought them, the critical acclaim and, for a few, a genuine interest in the subject matter.

I left crying, I always seem to leave crying lately, and on the drive home we talked about the desperation in which so many human beings live, about the sacrifices of conviction, about the dangers that lurk in the hearts of men who hold opinions contrary to our own.

I was raised in a strict Christian household, the child of a preacher who finds homosexuality so offensive that it far and above tops his list of unforgivable sins against God and country. He feels so strongly about it that he even chose my heterosexual wedding to preach on the subject, since he had the floor, to an audience of which not a single one was gay. I remember when my mother, in dismay, asked me how I could think that my parents' religion was one of hate when they had taught nothing but love, from her point of view.

The world is full of hateful men, hateful men who mistake their hatred for spiritual concern, who mistake their personal agendas for godly ones, who mistake their good will for selfish will and, as hate is not confined to the religious and the irreligious, hateful men find a whole host of well-meaning banners under which they advance disrespect, condescension and narrow-minded ideals.

I feel so often that I am not doing enough with my life, that I have the capacity to do so much without any idea of where to direct that energy. I feel as though I am languishing behind a desk, serving a useless institution, when men all around me are suffering, when there are more causes to take up than there are days left in my lifetime. When will I finally make a step in the direction of my hopes and dreams? When will I finally unshackle myself from the prison of the "should be" and go forth into the world with a blazing heart and sympathetic ear?

And yet, what if my desires to change the world are just as I said above, the misguided and mislabeled kind of hatred that constantly buffet humanity? What if I, by stepping off in any of those directions, lead other men to ruin and despair? What if I unwittingly set in motion a catastrophic chain of events? What if my desire to help the world stems from some bourgeoisie notion that the less fortunate need saving?

Why can't we all have a Clarence at the ready to show us how the world would be different without us?

Read more after the jump.

cruel cruel world

Never are my hopes and dreams for the future more poignant than when I feel sharp dissatisfaction with my life in some way. Escape is often my first instinct and today was just one of those days where some far off, idyllic life was at the forefront of my imagination.

I'm constantly surprised by how ugly people can be. Living in a city provides daily reminders of man's inhumanity to man. Something as simple as blowing through a red light or refusing to let someone in who is trying to merge are symptoms of a greater disrespect, an over-arching disregard for one's fellow man and, if you take it far enough, the world in which we inhabit. I suppose that it is natural enough to look out only for yourself, for many people they spend their entire lives just working out what is between their own narrow walls and so to ask a person to consider someone else as an equal, to consider their needs and wants, their very existence as valid as one's own is quite a stretch. Still, somehow we expect other men to give us that same consideration that we so jealously distribute ourselves.

Often, I think that we are fundamentally flawed beasts and that we exist to the detriment of everything else both animate and inanimate. I want, in this life, to make as little impact as possible. To live fulfilled but quietly, to tread lightly on the earth and among my fellow man. I honestly find that difficult to do in the context of this modern life. Not to say that any past life was easier or that there was a time in the history of man that we were in perfect accord. Quite the opposite, actually, is my belief. This modern life, however, is my life, the life I know and the life in which I feel constantly at odds. I yearn for a solution and, on days like today, I think that--for me--that solution may be a kind of voluntary simplicity and solitude.

Today, someone that I counted as a friend but who is also a coworker took a fairly heavy stab at my back and I was, quite honestly, felled by the blow. I want so desperately to live in perfect harmony with everything around me and yet, through some failure on my part no doubt, I am unfailingly at odds with it. I want to escape to a place where I can be self-sufficient and good, where I can forget the world and where it can forget me, where I am not involved, removed from the ever-churning gristmill of strife. If I must live this life to its end, I want so much for it to be peacefully so that, when I am gone, I will have bettered mankind without his even knowing it.

Read more after the jump.

Flee, flee screaming in the direction of your wildest dreams

We found a home, finally, to suffice while we make the preparations for our Great Adventure. It is old and in the city, the neighboring bridge to Canada a gentle reminder of our purpose and goals. The apartment is inexpensive enough that we can live and eat and pay our bills on my meager paycheck, thereby saving everything that Remy makes for our travels.

Last evening, we attended a going away party for a coworker/friend who is moving to be nearer to her family in L.A. I, ever the party avoider, sat in a corner all evening and talked to one person, a person that was an inspiration disguised as an introvert. We talked of our mutual dreams, dreams of working for ourselves as writers/creatives, dreams of winning the MacArthur Foundation Award, dreams of sustainable living, dreams of communal living, dreams of following our dreams, of traveling the world, seeing its insides and its outs. We spoke of the brevity of life, of the encroachment of time and the self-imposed pressure of making a mark, of progressing mankind in some way before we draw our last breath.

I hear so often my peers talk this way and I wonder what would happen if we were all to revolt, leave our jobs and live for ourselves doing precisely what we dream to do and turning the world on its ear. I am filled to the brim today with longing for that revolution.

Read more after the jump.