Miller night

Late last night, I had this sudden urge to read Henry Miller. His book Tropic Of Capricorn had, once, grabbed me by the neck and lifted me up way above the ionosphere. I couldn’t escape earth. My ass is no rocket. It is a poor ass at best. Last night, I started reading his journals on writing. I read a few paragraphs and they were something. Miller was one of the wise ones. He talked about spirituality in a way that is digestible. He was somewhere between a saint and a cruel pimp. He was more of a pimp. Usually, people who talk about spirituality make it a God-subject. That is nonsense. Utter nonsense. One can be religious and not be spiritual. I have found that men who are actually spiritual are rarely religious. At least they aren’t religious in the manner of bowing before some high-end God out of fear or incompetence or plain suffering. They rarely believe in a higher entity, a universal supervisor, a force that is above humans and that cannot be harnessed by humans. The case is different with the religious ones. For them, they are here and their God is up there. They believe in that light years long distance between here and there, between them and their God. If you walk to them and try telling them otherwise, they might abuse you or even get you killed. It has happened throughout the human history. No doubt in that.

I will quote some lines here. But wait wait wait. Why should I? To hell with those lines. Who am I to quote anybody? But those were good lines. Really good lines. You would have loved them. Really? Would you have loved them? I doubt it. I seriously doubt it. Miller was good but I doubt anyways. Playing with a kitten might be equally good. No doubt in that. No doubt. Rarely, something good is read, and it’s all old, very old. New art, new writing, new music – all seems dead and fake to me. That is not to say that all that is really dead and fake. It’s just that I feel that way. I am talking horseshit, I know.

Saw three intellectuals talking to each other while I was taking a walk this evening. I blew my nose and walked on. I find intellectuals repulsive. Yuck! I better finish my coffee and go back to staring at the wall. Outside, crickets are chirping but all they want to do is fuck all night and die of exhaustion. I am not much different. I am going. Watch me go.

Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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