|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
2015-02-22 - The LoveAn Article By Andreas Ingo |
|
Okay. Internet is shutting down in Luang Prabang occasionally. I'm sleeping in the jungle, listen to noises and try to endure the Chinese festival going on in the city. Some strange Buddhist chanting is keeping me awake at night. I fantasize about girls and alternative circles of people I'm hoping to meet. Thinking about Jack Kerouac and his travels. Now I'm a travel writer too. But the Beat movement occurred like 70 years ago. Jack Kerouac went about life in constant struggle, trying drugs, sex and having many conversations. Went into Mexico meeting prostitutes, driving on motorways in muscle cars and much, much more. There are differences and similarities between me and him. I'm not trying to make myself self-important. In fact I'm feeling quite depressed. I'm pretty safe but the adventures are tearing on my psyche. Jack Kerouac ended up in a remote cabin, drinking alcohol, isolating himself from his old friends. He just couldn't handle the heat. Sometimes I feel like giving up but then the intellect comes in and tells me it's the normal ups and downs of travel. On the whole it's the greatest happiness of my life. What's the worst part of it? It's the love. I'm not talking about romantic love here, rather the excitement of encountering scary things of the way. And not just scares, also peculiar landscapes and people of the unusual kind. What gets on my nerves is the totality of it. The immensity. The world is too large for a receptive mind that is just now starting to adjust to life on the road. It's not about insights, I'm beyond that. It's rather about lack of emotional maturity. Everything is enlarged by eyes without glasses. I just don't judge what I see. So what is left is raw emotions. I'm working on a way to handle it. The writing right now is one way, another way is going away from the chaos of the streets. Talked to others with the same problem. Many are sleeping way too much to just be lazy. Their minds are working overtime on all the impressions. Especially the brains of the young ones. Sleeping is one way to avoid psychosis. I'm thinking too much. But thinking is nothing compared to pure observation. That's when you have trouble handling it. Not always, only when observation after observation accumulates to a certain rush of love, a dark side effect. Perhaps I should walk blindfolded! So sometimes you long for something comparingly boring. Like the writing projects I had before I started to travel. The beauty of finishing a line, creating atmosphere. Creating evil characters. Wonderous landscapes. Suspenseful story lines. I even long for ordinary work! Hard work. Going away from Love, feeling the pressure of the employer, getting nothing but hate from the employees. That's the beauty of it. To feel nothing, taking it easy. But I think it's all about time. I've met older travelers that seem to care nothing at all. Just sitting at bars, having beers and being silent. It's no use even talking to them. Why? Because they've been through everything and have nothing to learn. Just enjoying the nice climate, walking a little, having a smoke. But I'm thinking more about my future. I've promised myself to never end up like them. Life is just too short to enjoy good climate. If it's not about learning experience anymore it's rather about social engagement. Doing something to make an imprint in human history. Making a name for myself. Something for the future. Well that's a kind of revolution. But it's nothing like the revolutions of the past. It's all about entertainment. Sucking people in by manipulation of emotions and intellect, creating suspense. I don't think I can teach anything. But it might be a way of filling a void, the world being too boring to spend it on constant repeat. So it gets darker, it gets more interesting, it gets ugly. Going in the opposite direction of everyone else. Informed by the purity of direct observation. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|