Friday, April 27, 2012

I Write Because

I write because it’s important to me. It’s important to me because I think that I will wake up one day and be a good writer. I write because one day I will wake up and I will be old and I won’t remember a god damn thing.

I got honked at yesterday. I was in the cross walk legally. And the woman in her shiny SUV honked at me for crossing the street legally. She startled me. I looked at her, she looked back like I was crazy. I looked at the crosswalk signal—which to be fair was blinking—but it definitely gave me right of way. And I looked back at her. And she kept giving me that glare. I really didn’t understand why.

I also almost got hit by a man not paying attention. All of my close calls have happened when cars make right turns. I understand that it sucks to drive in the morning and you might not be awake. But please pay attention to pedestrians. Especially ones crossing legally.

Do I even want to remember these things? I mean, what is the value of saying that I watched several episodes of Star Trek TNG tonight? I cooked buckwheat noodles and hung out casually. What the hell do I say about a life where the substance is so insubstantive and the material is so immaterial?

NPR played the first TED talk on their radio show. I listen to a lot of RadioLab and NPR. I record bits and pieces of my life hoping to send it far into the future. And no matter how hard I try there is a very real possibility it will fade into the ether.

Because Aristophanes may have lost the competition but he won in the history books because his play was the only one preserved. We destroyed our society in the Dark Ages, and a few scholars in the Arab world kept fractional libraries. Then we burned down the libraries, rediscovered our history and tried to put the pieces of the puzzle back together.

History is history. We lose so much. And maybe that’s not bad. Among the great scientific discoveries are the terrible realities. Rape, war, starvation, strife, torture, and hatred. For we are animals at the end of the day. And we record Mother Nature in its raw brutality. The act of recording is what makes it brutal. Plenty of animals die slowly as they are disemboweled and eaten alive every day. Because we have no moral association with these actions there is no outrage. We are slowly clawing our way out of the Sarlac pit; pretending to be more civilized than the giant space slug inside all of us.

And what I write is hopefully but a small contribution to that movement.