last night me and kelly had an adventure. we have this lovely friendship where nothing ever gets accomplished as planned, but we have a great time walking all over the city. its actually the best.
so anyhow, we are walking last night in strathcona, its late, past one and the moon is dramatically leering over our heads. we are smoking kelly's hand rolled cigarette concoction [tobacco leaf/lavender/cat nip and thyme]. its epic.
all of a sudden and for no reason at all we come across a scattered deck of cards. of course i cant see the whole deck because i am fixed on the jack of hearts. its in my hand, i am all over it. it is actually not until kelly points out that there is a whole deck that i notice a nine of hearts or an eight of diamonds, it doesnt matter the jack is in my bag.
i am collecting playing cards for my friend jill. she is back in toronto and we are trying to send each other a whole [found] deck. it is part of our correspondence. but i am transfixed on my singularity. what is the significance of my card? [who cares right/but i am superstitious and i cant help it] my sister sarah is always telling me that i read to far into things and that i am connecting scenarios that are unrelated in my constant search for understanding, which she sees as pointless all together.
so i ask google the grand master of information. wikipedia says that the jack was made in the image of Étienne de Vignolles, a french revolutionary general who that fought along side Joan of Arc, nick named La Hire. his name remains a byword for a choleric disposition. 'mirror, mirror on my desk tell me more, choleric personality?' and there it is. i am swimming in a world of my own strengths and weaknesses. choleric's [not a word?] are passionate, easily angered, dominating, terminally optimistic, extroverted, doer, COMPULSIVE NEED FOR CHANGE [!] independent and an insufferable know it all. shit.
i was worried the jack was a symbol for my passionate charge into romantic scenarios, instead it paints this picture of me as a general trampling my way to the things i want. no need for friendships? terminally independent? can this be me, but so much of it fits [compulsive need for change] i am swimming with thought. i am jacks crazy pituitary gland ransacking my apartment for answers in all my other belongings. i dont have to look very far, i am reading lermontrov's 'a hero of our time'. see also romanic hero, byronic hero, romanticism and tragic hero. another general. a lone dude who fights, loves and who's self destruction stems from boredom. he dies tragically because his life is a joke for melodrama and skirt chasing.
maybe i dont chase skirts [dirty long hair boys] but i certainly understand his point of view. "I'll hazard my life, even my honor, twenty times, but I will not sell my freedom. Why do I value it so much? What am I preparing myself for? What do I expect from the future? in fact, nothing at all." brilliant. i mean, i am not a prince, a warrior, wealthy, powerful, but in my own way and in my own life i am these things in my optimistic exploration of nothing. see also self indulgent to the extreme. i jump in to find redemption only to learn i can already swim and the water is to temperate for me. so on to the next adventure that will save my soul, answer my questions and leave me happy.
" What is happiness but gratified pride?" marry me pechorin. lets ransack the country side for a life time of fun and romance and drama, i will lead you by the nose and you will keep me in line [with a stiff upper hand] every-time i act bad. we will have a russian palace made from our dreams on the side of a leering cliff, hinting always at the danger we will daily tempt. dear pechorin i am ready, lets cross paths, lets make history, lets die for no good reason, lets hate everything to avoid responsibility. lets do this, jack of hearts first.
