testament
Being of sound mind, I do attest that all that follows is true. If there is nothing new under the face of the sun, and if it's all been said, but not to me, then.....what? Is there only the same old story? The never-ending Shakespearean rag? Then why would samadi be the beginning of spiritual life? Youth wants to know.
I was born 3 Tishri--1942--where Stephen King gets his ideas from. Do I need to tell you about my goddam childhood? In brief, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I determined to understand everything and to imbibe the wisdom of the ages. In short, me mum and dad, they fucked me up. Nothing new there; I did the same to my children. But now that I have presumptively reached the last third of my life, I am now determined to complete my assigned task. The last will and testament of William Jay Goodman III.
Always embrace delight.
"Ein arkhay hain logos." said John Crossett, more than once during freshman English. It turns out that the writers of literature, as he subtly demonstrated to us, the great unwashed, were doing something more than spinning a yarn. They were not only weaving a tapestry, they were trying to weave us into it. Or maybe show us that we were already a part. I already felt like Job because of my acne. In fact, that first month of college, as Arnie Raphael and I were being driven into town, in humiliated riposte to my brother's question "Why do you have so many pimples?" I made Arnie laugh by saying, "The curse of Job." Arnie could attest to this if he had not gone down with Haq Al-Zhia. Better a live dog, eh? But I digress. Literature, the life of the mind, meaning, art, erotics, athletic prowess--these were the things that mattered to me.
And I would have liked to have had some friends, but they say you can't have it all, especially if you're a pimply, self conscious, arrogant geek, albeit with a sense of humor that some appreciated. Freud, a little appreciated Jewish humorist, was quick to show its darker side. Not so dark as the slimy muck of mysticism, of course. Shema yisroel.
If I was born in September, was it 1942 or 1960? In '60, we read the Iliad and the Old Testament--in their entirety. And the Oresteia, and the Oedipus trilogy, and Henry IV, and the Phaedo, Apology, Symposium and Crito; and Walden, Moby Dick, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and Passage to India. And Paradise Lost. And Lear. "Tell me, " Mr. Goodman, "Why does God have to ask Adam questions?" asks Crossett. I forget my answer. But a real good question. I forget which chess grandmaster said, "I only see one move ahead--but it's the best move." Yes, answers are lead; questions are gold. Aren't they?
I was born 3 Tishri--1942--where Stephen King gets his ideas from. Do I need to tell you about my goddam childhood? In brief, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I determined to understand everything and to imbibe the wisdom of the ages. In short, me mum and dad, they fucked me up. Nothing new there; I did the same to my children. But now that I have presumptively reached the last third of my life, I am now determined to complete my assigned task. The last will and testament of William Jay Goodman III.
Always embrace delight.
"Ein arkhay hain logos." said John Crossett, more than once during freshman English. It turns out that the writers of literature, as he subtly demonstrated to us, the great unwashed, were doing something more than spinning a yarn. They were not only weaving a tapestry, they were trying to weave us into it. Or maybe show us that we were already a part. I already felt like Job because of my acne. In fact, that first month of college, as Arnie Raphael and I were being driven into town, in humiliated riposte to my brother's question "Why do you have so many pimples?" I made Arnie laugh by saying, "The curse of Job." Arnie could attest to this if he had not gone down with Haq Al-Zhia. Better a live dog, eh? But I digress. Literature, the life of the mind, meaning, art, erotics, athletic prowess--these were the things that mattered to me.
And I would have liked to have had some friends, but they say you can't have it all, especially if you're a pimply, self conscious, arrogant geek, albeit with a sense of humor that some appreciated. Freud, a little appreciated Jewish humorist, was quick to show its darker side. Not so dark as the slimy muck of mysticism, of course. Shema yisroel.
If I was born in September, was it 1942 or 1960? In '60, we read the Iliad and the Old Testament--in their entirety. And the Oresteia, and the Oedipus trilogy, and Henry IV, and the Phaedo, Apology, Symposium and Crito; and Walden, Moby Dick, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and Passage to India. And Paradise Lost. And Lear. "Tell me, " Mr. Goodman, "Why does God have to ask Adam questions?" asks Crossett. I forget my answer. But a real good question. I forget which chess grandmaster said, "I only see one move ahead--but it's the best move." Yes, answers are lead; questions are gold. Aren't they?
Labels: to be continued
posted by bezdomny at 10:45 AM
1 Comments:
Very interesting read... I must return for your next installment...if only to find out whether it was 1942 or 1960... :)
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