Wednesday, January 10, 2007

The Not-Knowing Factor

I could arguably write tonnes about how friendships arise, but my foremost theory concerns just how dreams and wishful thinking interlink with your image of the people around you. Surely, you know them but that’s not to say you’d wish to know them in different circumstances. For most of them, you’re simply stuck with them just like you’re stuck with all the mechanized and purposeless teachings in school for example. Here they are and yet you cannot change them because they stay the same old, boring and monotonous individuals which you can only have superficial conversations with. Conversations which do not get anywhere where it matters and, conversations, you’d be much better off without.
Few, indeed, criminally few are the people with whom you can really bond i.e. truly identify with. And to come across such people is a real lucky thing. But fortune itself is evasive just like its opposite counterpart, misfortune, is persuasive.
Both can lead you onto the path of worthiness but equally, both can collapse upon you, taking advantage of your naïve blindness or detrimental environment.

When I come to the realisation that there was never any person with whom I could genuinely form a close attachment with, it makes by heart twitch with a gauche sort of pain. It can be quite sad when you think about it but you nevertheless, deal with it by means of writing about it. Therefore, it cannot be healed in actuality, whatever the case, and just like fortune weaves a deceptive network of continuous avoidance around you, so does this pain come and go, but ultimately stays for ever.

All the people whom I consider potential individuals with whom I can really identify with, are long dead. Their magic however, oozes from their graves with such a useful tendency, and that is a good thing. At least, you’re left with something to learn, or strive for and believe in. Books, songs, and paintings are such consolations for this sharp privation and indeed, you never reach a point where enough is enough, but there comes a time when this instinctive need of identifying with an actual individual, really stings and stings on your self.
As much as you reassure yourself that there’s still plenty of time and it’s never too late, your hopes of having a friendship with someone like Dostoevsky, for example, curl up in a corner and collect dust at your well-being’s expense.
I wish I’d known him, but that’s like believing in Father Christmas. It’s very sweet, but it’s for five year olds.

My point thus, is as such: If your perceive someone whom is either dead or alive, but you do not know them personally, as being truly someone who you wish was your best friend, then it’s at that point where he/she becomes a symbolic figure, a deep-meaningful figure in your attempts to find such an individual.
In other words, if you point a finger to Dostoevsky’s picture, and passionately say, ‘I wish you’d known him, in fact I wish he’d be my best friend’, and say to yourself, ‘I can indeed, identify with his philosophy and his talents’, then there goes your template for the person who consciously or not, you’re looking for. It doesn’t have to be Dostoevsky and you shouldn’t require of him or her to have written Crime & Punishment because that’s obviously setting the standards beyond even your dreams,
but simply of him or her to answer for your moods, intellect and desires appropriately or even insanely because that’s merely part of the worthiness.

And indeed, that’s someone worthy of knowing. All else carries with itself a diseased, episodic charade of boredom.
As much as this thinking is undeniably wishful and out of the boundaries of reality, what’s the harm in a little faith?
After all, St Nicholas was a true person who once lived. Now who says Father Christmas doesn’t exist or at least didn’t once walk the earth?


At 2 April 2007 at 22:57 , Anonymous Anonymous said...

the best friends are the ones we imagine for ourselves. once they start to disappoint us we no longer believe in them.

it's sad to think that loneliness and perpetual boredom is the result of disillusionment. after that, the only company one has is pride.


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