what we don't understand we can make mean anything
Have you heard of Sisyphus? He's a figure from Greek Mythology, a dude that put death in chains, after death was liberated and Sisyphus caught, Sisyphus was set (as punishment) to roll a stone up a hill over and over again for eternity. Sisyphus wasn't the only person in mythology to capture Death, there's a Russian folk tale about a soldier who captures death, that was adapted for The Storyteller with John Hurt.
Albert Camus uses this as an analogy for the absurdist ideas of humanity. Absurdism is the conflict of which there is no meaning to life but that we keep looking for it all the same, that we are not 'good' or 'bad' and things are not 'good' or 'bad'. It is that they are what they are, and what happens happens. It was mentioned by Chuck Palahniuk in Fight Club.
It's a point that's been pushed to me by many a psychologist and psychiatrist, and when faced with the Absurd there is a want for suicide. Camus argues that to complete suicide is to admit that life is not worth living, and is a way out of absurdity. Camus also thinks that, ultimately, Sisyphus was happy though, so I don't put too much faith into all of his writings on suicide.
But this is less about suicide and more about stories, and storytellers. I've always been captured by the written word, as long as I can remember I've read, and I remember each story and the feelings I had from them. I've placed storytellers and their stories high in my life, and hold anyone that can tell a good story in high regard. I hunger over the written word like oxygen.
The other day, sleeping between night shifts I had a bizarre dream. I'd taken a lot of Ecstasy tablets, over 30, because I thought they were mints. In the dream I tasted the minty-ness of these tablets. I spent the rest of my dream in a bizarre night club, sloped like the Brixton Academy, and I was desperately trying to purge these tablets into an empty ice cream tub. I was with others, who I know by face if not by name, They reassured me that when I came 'up' on the Ecstasy I hadn't purged the world would be beautiful. I can remember it all in such vivid detail, and in the dream when the Ecstasy did take an effect the world was bathed in a red sheen that when I awoke made me want to take photographs that feel like Sin City.
There is a lot I could take from this dream, which I won't divulge here. Similarly I could take it as it is, that my brain is firing neurons; processing information and sorting through the filing cabinet that is my experiences, my thoughts, my feelings and a whole lot of other-ness.
"We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens.”
- Chuck Palahniuk