An almost hipster friend of mine once wore a t-shirt that read something like, "I've heard of bands that haven't been formed yet." Arcing along the lines of the first liar not having a chance, the message conveys a sense of urgency to discover. What about discovery is so exciting, I cannot say, but when it comes to bands, often the personal discovery of a band comes too late. I discovered The Civil Wars, then started hearing them in sound tracks, and on NPR. Then, they broke up. The first time a person hears the Beatles, the cloud of disappointment over loving something that no longer exists looms dark on their voyage.
The Weakerthans, though still together, seem to be only updating their Twitter feed, leaving not much to love in the present. Their previous albums are time capsules that I find myself revisiting, and whenever "One Great City" comes on, I am reminded of discovering the band for the first time. The song is an ode to a home town, an expression of love for a city that can only be shown through a proud disgust. The people of Seattle, for love of the Emerald City, complain about the traffic. The people of Winnipeg, apparently, each in their own muttered way, proclaim, "I hate Winnipeg."
Like an old friend whose flaws you know better than they do, you cannot help but hate the town you are from, or living in. If ignorance is bliss, then love is spite for flaws that are too obvious to ignore. We lust in ignorance, a pre-love that builds around something that could never have existed. We love in full knowledge, but blind ourselves with an image of what it never was. Either way we are trapped loving something that does not exist.
Music and home towns are easy examples. Relationships, pregnancy, and child rearing seem to have the same effect. The recently single find fantasies to justify love that never existed, and the new parent soon fools themselves into the glory, forgetting the pain, of days gone by. At the heart, we love memories and fantasies because they are ours to control.
Travelling is much the same way. When on holiday, it is convenient to think that the experience was in some way real. That the traveler experienced the place, people, or culture. In actuality though, knowing a culture means to be assimilated by it, and once that happens, we are blind to it. Stories of gang violence and abject poverty seem unreal, but to the people in them, the alternative is just as unimaginable. The traveler never experiences their destination, and they may stay for years, building a facade of pliable love that exists for something that never was.
The fantasy genre, and maybe fiction as a whole, exists for our love of things that do not exist. When we fantasize about castles and dragons, we generally leave out the smell of chamber pots and open sewers. During the years in Middle Earth that Tolkien describes, he skips over the messy details of life, Sam only once waxes on about the Shire, and Rosy Cotton. George R. R. Martin is perhaps better at creating the grey area of life, but even when evil and good blend to an uncomfortable hospital beige we can freely love (and hate) that which does not exist.
Unlike my friend, I will probably never have heard of bands before they exist, and most of my hobbies are innately involved with following (e.g. following trails), and yet, I find at the close of every day a feeling a little like the title of The Weakerthans' second album, "Left and Leaving." I have left a moment in time that I will love, or love to hate, in my memories, and the day is leaving me to love in dreams of things that will never be, leaving me the transition from what never was, to what never will be.
The Weakerthans, though still together, seem to be only updating their Twitter feed, leaving not much to love in the present. Their previous albums are time capsules that I find myself revisiting, and whenever "One Great City" comes on, I am reminded of discovering the band for the first time. The song is an ode to a home town, an expression of love for a city that can only be shown through a proud disgust. The people of Seattle, for love of the Emerald City, complain about the traffic. The people of Winnipeg, apparently, each in their own muttered way, proclaim, "I hate Winnipeg."
Like an old friend whose flaws you know better than they do, you cannot help but hate the town you are from, or living in. If ignorance is bliss, then love is spite for flaws that are too obvious to ignore. We lust in ignorance, a pre-love that builds around something that could never have existed. We love in full knowledge, but blind ourselves with an image of what it never was. Either way we are trapped loving something that does not exist.
Music and home towns are easy examples. Relationships, pregnancy, and child rearing seem to have the same effect. The recently single find fantasies to justify love that never existed, and the new parent soon fools themselves into the glory, forgetting the pain, of days gone by. At the heart, we love memories and fantasies because they are ours to control.
Travelling is much the same way. When on holiday, it is convenient to think that the experience was in some way real. That the traveler experienced the place, people, or culture. In actuality though, knowing a culture means to be assimilated by it, and once that happens, we are blind to it. Stories of gang violence and abject poverty seem unreal, but to the people in them, the alternative is just as unimaginable. The traveler never experiences their destination, and they may stay for years, building a facade of pliable love that exists for something that never was.
The fantasy genre, and maybe fiction as a whole, exists for our love of things that do not exist. When we fantasize about castles and dragons, we generally leave out the smell of chamber pots and open sewers. During the years in Middle Earth that Tolkien describes, he skips over the messy details of life, Sam only once waxes on about the Shire, and Rosy Cotton. George R. R. Martin is perhaps better at creating the grey area of life, but even when evil and good blend to an uncomfortable hospital beige we can freely love (and hate) that which does not exist.
Unlike my friend, I will probably never have heard of bands before they exist, and most of my hobbies are innately involved with following (e.g. following trails), and yet, I find at the close of every day a feeling a little like the title of The Weakerthans' second album, "Left and Leaving." I have left a moment in time that I will love, or love to hate, in my memories, and the day is leaving me to love in dreams of things that will never be, leaving me the transition from what never was, to what never will be.
NNaaaa.
ReplyDeleteI understand what you say, but I thing it's too simplist, almost downer. You omit part of the story.
ReplyDeleteFor example, when you travel, of course you don't have a «real» experience of the place. But is it the goal? Don't you think people that travels often want to escape their daily reality to spend time with themself and explore... their inside more than the outside. For sure, saying the traveler never experiences the destination is way too reductive. And it would be too reductive to say similar thoughts about fantasy genre.
Finally, saying «the day is leaving me to love in dreams of things that will never be, leaving me the transition from what never was, to what never will be» is probably wrong or at least very very simplist. I don't buy it.
Sorry, my english is not good enough to expose well my point. Hope you see a little where I'm going.
I'll agree that this post may have been a downer, but to me, that was part of the point! Was it Thoreau or Emerson who suggested that travelling delivers nothing that the traveler did not bring with them? But if it is a journey of self-exploration, why not accomplish that through meditation? If we are discovering something inside ourselves, and not what is around us, then isn't what we discover not existence, but perception? But, maybe perception is existence!
DeleteAh, so many things to think about! Thanks for the dissenting view, so rarely do I get someone trying to ground me in reality! :)
A couple of thoughts came to me as I read your piece. First, in Prague, there is a little park in front of the train station. It seems nice, despite being a little "bummy", but later when talking to the proprieter of the small hotel I was staying at he said, with noticeable disdain, to be very careful there, that locals refer to the park as Sherwood Forest because it is so overrun with pickpockets, swindlers, and small-time thieves. In his very next breath, however, he was flush with pride as he informed me that Prague's pickpockets, swindlers, and thieves were, without a doubt, the best and trickiest in all of Europe.
ReplyDeleteSecond, my mind drifted to the opening of "The Descendants", specifically George Clooney's voiceover describing living in Hawaii. Without quoting the whole thing here, the essence was that people love Hawaii, but for those that live there Hawaii isn't really Hawaii at all, it's just home complete with stress, work, and family problems. I believe he says something like, "Our cancers aren't any less real."
Finally Alecia and I have been watching a show lately called "Party Down". It aired on Stars for two seasons from 2009-2010. It is about a catering company and each character has aspirations of something bigger except for the chief protagonist, Henry (Adam Scott). Henry had worked for 15 years in Hollywood to be an actor, but recently decided to quit as his biggest spot had been one line in a beer commercial for which he is now widely recognized and has no real drive to move beyond his current position catering parties. Anyway, in one episode they are catering backstage at a Jackal Onassis concert. Jackal (Jimmi Simpson) is a Marilyn Manson-type shock rocker. Early in the episode one of Jackal's people informs Henry that Jackal is outraged because the sandwiches have four sides and should be cut to have five. Henry cuts the sandwiches and he and another caterer, Roman (Martin Starr), deliver the five-sided sandwiches to Jackal with an apology. Jackal interrupts their apology and calls BS, saying there is no way they are honestly sorry about sandwiches. He continues about how his life is so artificial and he craves to live in reality where people wouldn't be so quick to apologize for the shape of a sandwich, and etcetera. Without much difficulty, he convinces Roman to switch places with him (easier than it sounds due to the excessive makeup), and takes the role as bartender. Throughout the evening, people are rude to him, complain about his drinks, and bemoan his work ethic, all of which he loves. At the end of the episode, after getting fired, he is back in his Jackal attire complaining to Henry about having to go back. Henry, envious of Jackal's way of life, tells him that the remainder of his evening will involve going home and watching "The Mentalist" with his controlling girlfriend. Soon after, Jackal is joined by three gorgeous and adoring women and, already acting bored, tells them they will go back to his hotel and watch "The Mentalist". They all get excited because they "love that show". I think this came to mind because it seems people in all standings are searching for reality, whether that be something more or something less than they have, but which really they can never achieve.
Also, The Civil Wars released a new album on 8/6. Perhaps they got over their "irreconcilable differences". I'm with you about the fun of discovery. But it's funny how when one of your discoveries hits mainstream radio stations it almost feels like something was stolen from you.
It is a hard balance loving what you have, and wishing for what you don't. I can think of so many times when my dreams ignore the cancers of living in Hawaii. When I started grad school, for example, I saw a better life in geology, but when I am in a camp like this, I sometimes wonder why I didn't just transition into crime scene clean-up. To see those horrors during the day helped me see the good at the end of the day (though often times it was very frustrating). Here, I have a hard time seeing the good when what I look forward to most is a chance to use a flush toilet. Either way, it seems like I'm just looking for something that never was.
DeleteAs for the Civil Wars, I'll leave it with a little Jayne advice, "Nothing buys bygones quicker than cash," saving, of course, cash and revenge.