The Gift of Literature

My son says that being home is like a replica of being home. I say Kerouac captures something of that. My son says interminable minutes of nothingness offend him most. I say the best I’ve read about interminable minutes of nothingness is in the arid landscapes of Roberto Bolano. My son says that the baseline of existence is chaos. I say that for Empedocles love was the opposite of chaos. My son says that he feels trapped by language. I say you’re sharing an office with Wittgenstein now. My son says life seems emergent. I say Henri Bergson did some creative thinking. My son says nice talking to you dad. I say nice talking to you son. Between us I think, interminable highways of nothingness, replicas of towns, chaos and something quite emergent between fathers and sons.

2 thoughts on “The Gift of Literature

  1. I completely understand the nature of your responses, because I frequently refer to literature in a similar way. But when I say, ‘Yes, that’s similar to what (insert name of poet) wrote about’ or, ‘his life seems to be like the one described by the narrator in (insert name of a novel’, the eyes of the one listening to this often glaze over like donuts. This doesn’t stop me, however. It’s how my mind is bent. Yours too Sal.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I suppose and thank you for your comment Sharon. Funny how our minds work. These were the bare bones of a phone conversation I had with my son Michael. I was telling Brigitte tonight that if literature and philosophy are not applicable to our lives what are they for. My son isn’t necessarily literary but certainly philosophical and he usually responds well to our talks. It is a pleasure share what little I know with him and others. Thanks again. Love, Sal.


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