The twenty seven club at 45?
Hey there Tao, told you I would try and get back to you soon.
I'm in a bit of a bind at the moment. Of my own making, to be sure. I am wondering how to explain. Maybe I can't.
It's to do with cycling, and dying, and saving the world and cursing the world and art and cursing the art world and loving the leaves and living the lies and leaving the loves and I'm sure more than that.
I could start at the beginning but where the fuck is that?
I started this saying that I am in a bit of a bind, so I suppose I should articulate the bind, if I can. On the surface level it's about what to do with my cycling. (it goes much deeper, I know that that but maybe I can get to that by a measured process of excavation)
I have been on the threshold of hanging up my bike, as they say in Spanish. I can't justify it to myself anymore, and yet I don't stop. This weekend I did another two hundred and seventy kilometres, with one potentially dangerous blow-out, and with a complete blow out of myself.
Didn't Cadel shine in the end. I have/had long stopped wanting him to win, and yet in the end it was a perfect ending to the best tour in years. And whoever that was that sang the national anthem of aussielandia certainly did a fantastic job, bringing a tear to my eye and making Cadel Evans act like a squirmy idiot, so as not to be seen crying.
But thank god the tour is over. I really wasn't going to watch it this year. It's just such a huge investment of time, but I think if it has ever been worth it, it was this year. It was really inspiring to watch Alberto Contador show us True Grit with those attacks even though he was obviously well off form. And as I noted before the ending was just how it needed to be. Cavendish winning the stage and showing he's well on the way to becoming the winningest rider on the tour ever. George Hincapie becoming the first rider ever to participate in 9 tour wins, with seven while riding for Armstrong, one with Alberto and now one for Cadel.
And in the end a podium with two brothers on it. And Cadel Evans, just when most, including myself had given up on him, coming out to stand on the top step of the Podium, that which he must have pictured everyday for the last ten years or more.
Anyway, back to me, although I am tempted to post this and call it a small triumph to get another missive off to you, but I know I haven't got into anything, even scratch the surface that I mentioned before. I sort of got side-tracked by thinking of the tour, and I could get side-tracked by Amy Winehouse and the 27 club as well. Funny, when I was that age I thought it was the 25 club, or at least I always thought I would be dead by 25, and when I woke up alive at 26 I sort of snapped out of it. Sort of. Wonder what would have happened if I had set 27 as the end point.
According to Alan Watts,
And it can be hard to justify not topping oneself, when one walks around with ones eyes open in this culture. Of course the opposite could be said to be true when one walks around with ones eyes open in the world, even the smallest part of what is natural and wild, the forlorn struggle of a tiny "weed" to break through the cracks in the asphalt world we have made and you know that this will go on after this culture has finally played itself out.
Still, cycling, or still cycling. Damn, this stuff is hard.
I'm in a bit of a bind at the moment. Of my own making, to be sure. I am wondering how to explain. Maybe I can't.
It's to do with cycling, and dying, and saving the world and cursing the world and art and cursing the art world and loving the leaves and living the lies and leaving the loves and I'm sure more than that.
I could start at the beginning but where the fuck is that?
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| From just_the_stuff |
I started this saying that I am in a bit of a bind, so I suppose I should articulate the bind, if I can. On the surface level it's about what to do with my cycling. (it goes much deeper, I know that that but maybe I can get to that by a measured process of excavation)
I have been on the threshold of hanging up my bike, as they say in Spanish. I can't justify it to myself anymore, and yet I don't stop. This weekend I did another two hundred and seventy kilometres, with one potentially dangerous blow-out, and with a complete blow out of myself.
Didn't Cadel shine in the end. I have/had long stopped wanting him to win, and yet in the end it was a perfect ending to the best tour in years. And whoever that was that sang the national anthem of aussielandia certainly did a fantastic job, bringing a tear to my eye and making Cadel Evans act like a squirmy idiot, so as not to be seen crying.
But thank god the tour is over. I really wasn't going to watch it this year. It's just such a huge investment of time, but I think if it has ever been worth it, it was this year. It was really inspiring to watch Alberto Contador show us True Grit with those attacks even though he was obviously well off form. And as I noted before the ending was just how it needed to be. Cavendish winning the stage and showing he's well on the way to becoming the winningest rider on the tour ever. George Hincapie becoming the first rider ever to participate in 9 tour wins, with seven while riding for Armstrong, one with Alberto and now one for Cadel.
And in the end a podium with two brothers on it. And Cadel Evans, just when most, including myself had given up on him, coming out to stand on the top step of the Podium, that which he must have pictured everyday for the last ten years or more.
Anyway, back to me, although I am tempted to post this and call it a small triumph to get another missive off to you, but I know I haven't got into anything, even scratch the surface that I mentioned before. I sort of got side-tracked by thinking of the tour, and I could get side-tracked by Amy Winehouse and the 27 club as well. Funny, when I was that age I thought it was the 25 club, or at least I always thought I would be dead by 25, and when I woke up alive at 26 I sort of snapped out of it. Sort of. Wonder what would have happened if I had set 27 as the end point.
According to Alan Watts,
Camus said there is only one serious philosophical question, which is whether or not to commit suicide. I think there are four or five serious philosophical questions. The first one is 'Who started it?' The second is 'Are we going to make it?' The third is 'Where are we going to put it?' The fourth is 'Who's going to clean up?' And the fifth, 'Is it serious?'
And it can be hard to justify not topping oneself, when one walks around with ones eyes open in this culture. Of course the opposite could be said to be true when one walks around with ones eyes open in the world, even the smallest part of what is natural and wild, the forlorn struggle of a tiny "weed" to break through the cracks in the asphalt world we have made and you know that this will go on after this culture has finally played itself out.
Still, cycling, or still cycling. Damn, this stuff is hard.
posted by scott at
2:12 AM
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