"My stars in the sky made a soft rustling sound/ And I listened to them, seated on the side of the road,/ In those good September evenings when I felt drops/ Of dew on my brow, like a strong wine:/ Where, rhyming in the midst of fantastic shadows,/ Like lyres I plucked the elastics/ Of my wounded shoes, one foot near my heart"
It feels somehow like cheating using something that I posted on Facebook to write about here. There was a mediocre movie, "In the Land of Women" on the other night, and I only watched part of it. It is about a writer that hasn't accomplished anything, and is, for some reason, wasting his privileged life. At one point he says something like, "I've been given all the advantages possible, and what have I got to show for it?" He has never suffered, never done anything, but he wants to.
As I read Rimbaud it was this idea that came into my mind thinking about what it is I want to do. Writing is all I want to do. I don't want to change the world, I just want... to do what I am supposed to do. If I am here for a purpose, let's get to it.
Life is great, too great, and I am almost too happy, or content, but I long for something. I yearn, but I'm not sure what for. The kid in the movie says if maybe he writes something beautiful he can make someone love him. That'd be great, I'd love to loved in the true love "Princess Bride" way, but I don't know if that is what I'm looking for.
Sometimes I feel like I'm not looking for anything, I have no goals, I'm just walking down a road enjoying the crunch of gravel under my feet, and excited about what is on the other side of the hill. Does that mean I need to start walking?
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