Thursday, August 16, 2012

The Evil That Men Do.

Today I got up early.  I had a plan in mind.  I'd bumped into Jim yesterday.  Jim is a masters student at Melbourne Uni who I had gotten to know last year while completing my honours.  I've become increasingly interested in the things he is looking at in his thesis: namely the emergence of myth and intellectual dialogue, and how it has affected philosophy (or more like thought really) for the past two thousand-ish years.

With this in mind, I took the tram to Melbourne Uni early this morning to go have coffee with Jim.  It was a great chat.  We talked about my various misgivings in regards to current philosophical debates, why I was enable to engage with it, the dangers of adherence to dogmas (whether intellectual or every-day), literature, politics, etc, etc.  It did, it's fair to say, span some pretty serious (read: hardcore) topics, and ones that I hadn't had the opportunity to broach while wrenching in a bike shop.  It was exciting, illuminating, whilst simultaneously being terrifying.  I hadn't felt that kind of creative buzz for a long time, and I wasn't quite sure what to do, now that I could feel it bubbling away in my belly.

I left Jim, two coffees down, a reading list of his suggestions as to where to start reading again (surprisingly, the analysis of the history of thought it remarkably hard to get a grasp of) with a happiness I hadn't felt since I bought stationary for my honours year.  Jim hadn't just helped me sort out my ideas, he had also dismissed my various misgivings re. me having another shot at academia.  There wasn't any harm, he pointed out, in damn well trying.

Fair enough.

I was so happy that I didn't even care that I got busted for no ticket on the tram; the thought of me getting a fine in the mail at this stage, an arbitrary and distant concept.

When I got home I found out through my friend Sarah that an old family friend, an artist who had actually painted my portrait when I was seven, and with whom I had spent a lot of my childhood with when I lived in Italy, had died on Tuesday.

After that I felt pretty bummed out, and all the progress I had made that morning suddenly seemed very distant and far away.

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