I have no need to travel. I do, I do, but for the sake of the THIS, I don’t. Because I won’t have a good time – i’ll experience things, be invited to taste weird cheeses (and I’ll say No Thank you, and the more-cultured people will think I’m strange) and that won’t be fun. I’ll essentially belocked into some agenda, some hotel-room-schedule — hysteria that would exist if I traveled or not. I could continue working on getting my work good – make it actual work instead of “expeeeeeeeeeeeeeriencing the world.” What will I do with all that experience if I’m not happy, if I can’t absorb? Keep a journal? (Aw). Read back on my writing, enjoying my own wit – seeing how i’ve grown as an individual – PLEASE. What, so I could update facebook status saying “I’ll be in Barcelona for the next 4 days, hit me up.” <- I don’t say Hit Me Up, but that’s what they say. So i could post pictures of me and my omigod girlfriends drinking at a bar, or making some stupid I-want-my-picture-taken-but-i’m-not-comfortable-enough-to-smile face in front of some statue?
I’m reading On the Road and i realize that I don’t find this kind of traveling fun or inspiring. And I’m disappointed by this. All this time, I thought I was cool like Kerouac – turns out i’m JUST A GIRL who’s in love with him. How awful – how horrible. Fiesty like di Prima, but in love with Kerouac. ::In love with men I wish I were::
And, get over yourself, George Bailey.
(Somewhat related) Those who think that the world is beautiful or at least who say the phrase make me sad because I don’t understand them. I see the beauty, but when he or she says the world is so beautiful, i think “What is he on?” It puts pressure on me.
An opinion I have: People (dreamy men/ballsy women) who say they want to go and travel and see the beauty of the world secretly have no real concept of beauty (or traveling, either). Like, a bottle of sprite spilled allover their beauty-o-meter. People who drank their own faces, did all their drugs and lost their virginity a million times in high school. You’re probably just… bored. Realizing that there’s really nothing else except…. a roadtrip to the Wild Wild West! The beauty of the world. Misunderstood people (we’re all misunderstood) who think that just because SUVs are horrible (they are) that all of America is horrible. And all that “this is good/ this is bad” simple-as-pie kinda stuff. (I’m not talking about Kerouac anymore or badmouthing him. I never was. And plus he told me he’s happy that I’m opening up finally.)
I’d take a good Chuck Close portrait on a Tuesday afternoon over your plastic bag blowing in the wind, any day. (The only part of the movie that made me uncomfortable – everything else was great – beautiful.)