Posted 6 years, 8 months ago at around evening time by oso
If I could go anywhere today, digo manaña, there is no doubt, it would be Eastern Europe. In fact, I would start on the coast. In whatever that meaningless country just north of Greece is called. Yes, that’s exactly where I’d start. It seems so silly to me that I only speak two languages. How could it be. At least 10. I’ll have to learn at least 10.
But as I was saying, tomorrow I’d like to begin at the coast. I’m picturing it grey. Everything grey. A monochrome landscape. Maybe only a few grassy hills of muted green, but otherwise absolutely grey.
Of course, I’ll have to buy the motorcylce there. Would probably be the same price as shipping anything motorcycle-sized over. Less really. Besides, I’d like to make the purchase, partake in the commerce of whatever this country is called. The man from whom I purchase the motorcycle will be wearing a hat and – whether this fits with local customs or not – will be smoking a cigar. Niether friendly nor surly, he will be merely honest and look me over with the slanted eyes of a skeptic when I do not know what I’m talking about. He is selling the motorcyle – almost the size of a scooter – like an animal lover sells a dog. And the fact that, in the end, he does sell me the motorcyle (for the same price he would charge his cousin) just goes to show that affection follows no rational. Or is it rationale?
Either way, he silently insists that I accept a scratched and speckled white and turquoise helmet after stalling the bike while attempting to exit his gravel driveway. I hesitate, meditating on the fact that the helmet will destroy the image of my adventure. And if this adventure is anything, it’s a pursuit of a platonic ideal in the movement of myself.
One morning, I know not when, and I only relate this to you as someone once related it to me, Fredrick Nietzche awoke and declared – perhaps it was a New Year’s resolution – that his raison d etre would consist entirely of an endless and perfected search for beauty. Of course, I have no way to discern what he could have possibly meant by such a statement, but coming from Nietzhe, I very much have my doubts that these were the words of an aesthete. Rather I would like to believe that Nietche’s intentions were much aligned with my interpretration; and that is to approach a lifetime much as an artist approaches the canvas. Or as the cliché goes, as a sculptor fastidiously looks over and looks into a block of marble.
My problem now, as I ride along this coastal, former war-torn republic at a self-consciouss, but exponentially increasing speed on my new and beautiful motorcyle is this: I am entirely aware that I am in this country because of Nietzche’s words. They had some profound effect on me. Life changing. A personal paradigm shift in how I used to see both the world and myself and where the two intersected. I’m entirely consciouss that I had made the connection between Nietzche’s quote on the one hand and the 3000 kilometers of Eastern European highway that lay ahead of me on the other. But I no longer remember nor understand the connection and the realization of this weighs on me like a constant sensation of unpleasant deja vú.
As a constant confrencer, do you find it hard to...
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beautifully written. damn, i wanna travel now.
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Of all the astounding sentences Nietzsche wrote, the most haunting one is:
“Wieviel Wahrheit vertraegt der Mensch?”
“¿Cuánta verdad soporta el ser humano?”
“How much truth can humanity bear?”
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Oso, you’re pretty good at stringing words together, but those pictures are a little creepy.
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Hola! Oso!
Muchas gracias por votar por mi. =D
Ahora para hacer válido tu voto, necesitas poner en algun post que votas por mi, con solo una línea escrita en ingles o español donde diga que votas por mi esta bien. Y si gustas yo envío el link del post a la página del concurso.
Heey yo tengo ojos cafes , ¿no hay pupilas cafes para los “someones”? jeje
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jaja perdon Iris cafes
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Great post. Except I had Koh Pha-Ngan flashbacks when you started talking about motorcycles. Ouch.
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would that be Macedonia you were referring to? former Yugoslav republic that boarders Greece? which by the way is a country that Greece has tensions with as they have a province that borders Macedonia named Macedonia that is populated by ethnic Macedonians. don’t want it seceeding you know to join the motherland.
if there is any place i’d want to spend weeks and weeks travelling thru it would be europe. it fascinates me the thought of driving a similar distance as one state here to another and entering a different nation with a different language and culture. I’d like to tour there with someone special riding Vespas throughout the countryside.
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Irasali,
Thanks, I’m glad you’re back aboard the blogosphere.
Crazyhands,
Most of Nietzche’s questions leave me stumped, but that one is easy: very little. Reminds me of a antecdote a professor once told us. He says that sciences greatest revelations (copernican solar system, evolution, and two other examples I forget) come at the cost of the human being’s importance in the universe. It’s not a pattern that many people find comforting.
Cindylu,
If you think the photos are creepy, you should enter the actual store. I was freaking out.
Grecia,
Mi voto viene ahorrititititita. Pero estoy confundido de lo de iris cafes.
Bobbo,
I have to admit something to you that I never wanted to admit. When I saw you take off up that hill in first gear and I saw you pop a willy and I heard you shriek (yes shriek) and I saw the bike come tumbling down on top of you as you hit the gravel road … two things happened simultaneously: I of course, was worried about you, but I also started cracking up. I realize this makes me a terrible person and I have accepted it. I hope you still love me and would be willing to share a buck fifty beach bungalow with me again.
Myke,
This post is the beginning of a long fictional series which will probably end up taking months if not years to finish. So you can interpret it how you’d like, but I’ll admit that when I was writing it I was picturing Albania. And funny you mention the Vespas. I couldn’t figure out if I was picturing the guy riding a Vespa (elegant but cliché) or a 1960sish Yamaha (or it’s European equivelent) motorcycle. So I tried leaving that to the reader too.
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Oso-
I hate to burst your bubble, but you told me that already. And it was a manly shriek. And a manly scar, motherfucker. I’m going to crush beer cans on my forehead now.
Using
Really? The guilt has obviously not gone away. I’m skeptical of the scar though.