I have no intention of ever wearing a tie again, if I can help it, unless of course I am a famous writer or a professor, then I would wear a tie all the time, or if I was at a party or wedding, maybe a funeral, but never again for the sake of a menial job that only stifles my imagination and deadpans my urge to do something productive for the sake of others. I said that once before when I had a job with a nice income attached and it sounded flat.
Modernity, as defined by a fellow traveler and writer by the name of Gideon, should be redefined as the era where how we fill our days isn’t necessarily the same way our father’s did, and this aspect, this approach, almost directly tells the story of how my father and I stopped talking. We’ve communicated twice over the past year: once to draw the line in the sand, to finally put at stake all of our beliefs and thoughts that would not be altered by the other, because it is only in families that it truly matters if you have any ownership of how the other thinks; and, the second time, was an attempt at a reconciliation where neither side approached the line with any form of halfhearted allegiance to the idea that disagreeing was ok. In fact it only created a larger void where no commonality or support would be found. And that’s fine.
I think this is how people eventually become bums, the ones that hold cardboard signs at every on and off ramp. I’ve never been so inspired by the homeless. I wonder what this says about me, about my desire for the future. I know this post is running in the same theme as the others and can be called, at this moment, a tangent. Tomorrow I vow to stop and will hit the streets to find something interesting worth sharing. I thank you for your patience as I make the transition.