This entry is inspired by many things but having this wikipedia article in mind would be good.

This is one of these days when the sky turns black and it suddenly the rain pours down like there is no tomorrow. It is one of these days when I treasure the darkness of the sky and revel in the fact that it’s raining on me. It also helps that I’ve discovered a new band called Diary of Dreams which seems strangely and eerily fitting with existential nausea I woke up with this morning. (And before you start asking – no I’m not pregnant! At least not if we’re not talking some existential pregnancy of which I know little, but it’s a thought.)

Nothing seemed true; I felt surrounded by cardboard scenery which could quickly be removed….” (Nausea, 1959 edition, pp 106-7)

It seems fitting to quote Sartre on a day like this although I’d rather quote Camus. The nausea is not because I saw the new Star Trek movie (I was dragged there kicking and screaming), it had strangely little cardboard feel to it and I enjoyed it although I’m still not over the fact that Bones was cuter than both Spock and Kirk.

No, The Enterprise saved the day remarkably handsomely and apart from a star wars monster that seemed to have gotten out of George Lucas’ virtual cages it was thoroughly enjoyable to see Star Trek being renewed and still remaining what it was.

The Nausea is not inside me: I feel it out there in the wall, in the suspenders, everywhere around me. It makes itself one with the café, I am the one who is within it.” (Nausea, —1959 edition, p31)

The nausea finding it’s way to my senses through the things around me. Through the walls around me, the kitchen that is dirty no matter how often I clean it, the fact that I have only a few pages left of  The Straw Men (the book I am thoroughly enjoying although finishing a good book sometimes leaves me a tad nostalgic), it’s the words that I’m struggling with today, everything around me really.

And I’d like there to be new beginnings, new endings, true stories but there are none, just a never ending flow of something I do my best to enjoy or at least endure, some things can only be endured (like the incessant thumping of this house nowadays as new neighbors move in, each younger than the one before them – they look like they belong in a cradle and yet they are out on their own – is this age? Will I start seeing gray hairs now?). Like Eurovision – I endure it well – the experience always leaves me a little humbled at the face of all the different tastes. How easy it is to dismiss some of if it as bad (with a sheep sound) until you realize that this is the song your friend likes, or better yet it’s the song from your own country.

All I can do is enjoy this strange, dreary mood and wait for it to subside, wait for everything to change, even if the things that change are just the things inside me: “I take a few steps and stop. I savour this total oblivion into which I have fallen. I am between two cities, one knows nothing of me, the other knows me no longer.” (Nausea, 1969 edition, p 169)

P.S. forgive my existential stumble – this never lasts long and I’ll be posting overly bright pictures again in no time. Blame it on Sartre and sing a cheery song if it felt like this entry had too slow a beat.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. S says:

    As a high-school student, existentialism utterly enraged me. Camus elevated me to fiery contempt.
    Life experience seems to have made more of a case for existentialism or at least helped me to redefine it into something that, sometimes, I can almost get into.

    And then the moment passes and I feel dumb again.


    1. Eygló Daða says:

      I wish I’d been exposed to existentialism at that early age. I might be a different person today! (Then again that might not necessarily be a good thing!)


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