I’m trying to be less of a tsundoku1, he says thumbing through his latest purchase. Obviously with limited success. I think (broadly) it’s a book about Existentialism (now destined to live on my bedside table for the next year).
The dedication is a quote by Rudyard Kipling.
‘People say that what we’re all seeking is the meaning of life… I think that what we’re really seeking is the experience of being alive’.
It reminds me (for some reason) of the Simpsons episode where Sideshow Bob has ‘Die Bart Die’ tattooed on his chest, ‘Its German for thee Bart, thee’. The parole board chortles, ‘No one who speaks German could be an evil man’.
I feel the same way about people who quote Rudyard Kipling.
Although maybe I’ve just walked into a clever consumer psychology dead-fall, cunningly positioned across the trail by Big Philosophy to sell… eh… more philosophy. I mean that’s not the only reason I bought the book. It ALSO has a picture of Jean Paul Sartre drinking coffee and chain-smoking on the front cover. (who in my mind is a black and white, French speaking version of Hank Moody2) They know all my weaknesses.
[1] My Japanophilia is hitting my upper-control limit at the moment (see picture)
[2] Who only really impressed me in season one. We’ve scrubbed whatever came after that with steel wool and acetone.
Also seemingly mentioned are the other usual suspects in this genre; Kierkegaard, and my gloomy countrymen, Friedrich and Arthur. All of whom I like. Having said that, I don’t think I’d invite any of them over for dinner. (You know, that imagining where you invite a selection of dead… and/or living I suppose, personages to your home and dazzle them with your gastronomy).
Only Theodore Roosevelt has a permanent position on my pretend guest list. I think he would be quite fun and after dessert we can go stick-fight on the lawn outside (something I’m sure he’d be up for).
‘Bully!’
And then maybe Richard Dawkins… so I could punch him in the head for ruining my life. I use the term ‘ruining’ quite loosely.
I probably wouldn’t punch him.
I’m also re-reading the Jungle Book. He says, circling back to Kipling. (before I got all side tracked with other words)
I’ve become a Scout. Or rather, more accurately, I’ve joined up again as an Adult Scout Leader, having once upon time been a scout. (In prehistoric times)
Rudyard Kipling and Baden Powell were good mates, and the Jungle book is used throughout the younger cub program as a source of symbolism and an allegorical framework. (I’ve taken on the name of Bagheera3 as my pack name) I don’t think American scouts do this, there was a schism in the dogma right near the beginning. But broadly, those that follow the original canon (so everyone except the United States) can appreciate the intertwined relationship between Kipling and the Scouts… ‘brand’.
[3] Obviously I have an inflated sense of self. Really I am more of a Hathi. Or Rama, the water buffalo.
I don’t remember it being this brutal! The book I mean, the Disney version being quite the departure. (so really they’ve been doing this since forever) Although having now survived my first camp in aeons maybe I also mean the physical act of scouting. I can attest that once you get to a certain level of venerability sleeping on the ground will fuck you up. (this is also where my Japanophila becomes less… intractable)
This condition was remedied, post event, with Ibuprofen, dutifully chased with an entire Mocha pot of espresso… and really, that only got me back to a bare minimum of functionality. Still, its probably good for me.
‘…I think that what we’re really seeking is the experience of being alive’.
It might be ticking some sense of… giving back (to the community), which I feel I’ve been lacking lately. This could be my Ikigai now. Influencing the youth and teaching them things…
… which in reality might end up just being the witticisms of Murray Rothbard and that ‘taxation is theft’. But I guess we can also build rafts and learn knots and stuff.
Or try at least.
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Go Darke 