May 30, 2013

• Kierkegaard

  

  A few of my foodventure friends and I went to eat at Masa (probably one of my favorite restaurants at the moment) yesterday. Before going to the restaurant, I stopped by a place called Stories where I picked up a translation of Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling and Repetition. I remember encountering Kierkegaard’s work a long time ago, but I can’t remember for what paper I might have referenced him, or whether I even chose to reference his work in the end. He’s a pretty interesting guy (that’s all I can really say about most theorists. I know a lot of people can go on and on about the varying theories of Derrida or Lacan, or how post-modern or deconstructionist theories can clash or co-exist, but I’m just a simple minded fool who likes to read high minded theorist literature). I appreciate it, but I don’t like to discuss it. Unless it’s something I want to discuss, then I might do so. 

  Anyway, besides the printed material, which is already really interesting in itself, I found a slip of paper smushed between pages 116 and 117. I’ve been feeling really depressed recently and sometimes when I’m depressed, I look for signs in the world around me that validate my feelings. This piece of paper spoke to me with its poignant and painful message. In Holland, I had a cup with a cow on it that was nicknamed “Moo Moo.” Sometimes when you really like an object that you own and cherish, you begin to identify with it. Of course, I couldn’t bring it back with me to LA, but I suddenly remembered it when I saw this note. In this really abstract way, I felt that it was unintentionally personalized to me. 

  I feel like this person really loved and lost. That feeling is so painful and bittersweet – you can almost enjoy it sometimes, but it makes you so weary and angry and exhausted at the end. Why bother with it at all? I think the note had some point being stuck between 116 and 117; in fact, on page 116 it says (I omit context for the reason that I’m lazy and am going to be overtly obnoxious in assuming you’ll understand everything from where it comes from. Don’t worry – I don’t):

  “If the meaning of his life is an external act, then he has nothing to say, then everything he says is essentially chatter, by which he only diminishes his impact, whereas the tragic conventions enjoin him to complete his task in silence, whether it consists in action or suffering.”

  • 5:23 pm
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