Four Kinds of People

 During my commutes in San Francisco, I began to order the world around me. More aptly, I began to order myself within the world around me. I also started to think about my family, those who are gone, and the ones that remain. I started to think about old friends, again those who are gone and those who remain. I started to think about all the jobs I've had over the years: picture framer, screen printer, lumper, lightbulb changer, clerk, Boy Scout, soldier, waiter. I spent twenty years either waiting tables or tending bar, a job I liked ten percent of the time. It's also where I was the most exposed to people and for better or worse, how I formed my opinions on the nature of people.

In 2019, I spent the year thinking about higher laws, things that were the answers and discoveries to my questions. I spent the year with smaller distilled topics, things that where inspired by the things I read (Emerson and Thoreau), my life with the Boy Scouts, or general anecdotal observations that warranted research. I did not think about people, not really.

Sixty Eight Degrees and Sunny

There was something magical about Denver International Airport from the very second I got there the other day. There was construction everywhere and despite it being a Sunday morning before six, the place was buzzing with people and activity. I walked to Concourse A and went through the security line there. I was on a flight on Concourse C, but I always walk through security at A. I've been doing it that way for nearly thirty years.

I was awash with memories in DIA. I always am. The place has a specific smell that I do not know in other airports. In fact, I think each of the concourses have their own smells too. As I walked toward that first concourse, I felt happy, elated, excited. Not really the feelings one my age has about airports. In fact, I think most people do not care for airports. But for me, I felt giddy, like a kid.

Painting Faces, a June Ch

 

Richard Brautigan, revisited. An Update

I've been dutifully rereading the entire Richard Brautigan cannon like I said I was going to do. I had made the decision to see how much I've changed since first reading all of these books twenty years ago in 2003.

I have my ideas, of course. I was so absolutely crazy for these book twenty years ago. It's important to know that when I start to read a writer, I will read everything I can by the writer. This has been the case with John Steinbeck, Kurt Vonnegut, Haruki Murakami, Elie Wiesel, Dashiell Hammett, Kazuo Ishiguro, to name a few. I have been know to read a dozen books by an author back to back. Once, I spent a whole summer reading eight books by the Bronte sisters. Needless to say, they tend to blur together.

Even now, having read in chronological order: A Confederate General of Big Sur, Trout Fishing in America, In Watermelon Sugar, The Abortion, The Hawkline Monster, Willard and His Bowling Trophies, Dreaming of Babylon and the poetry collections The Pill Vs the Springhill Mine Disaster, Rommel Drives Deeper into Egypt and Laoding Mercury with a Pitchfork, I am making very startling discoveries.

Discovery number one, I am older now that Richard Brautigan ever was. He died a DIY in 1984 at 49 years old. Discovery number two, when I initially read these books I was the age Brautigan was when he wrote many of them. Discovery number three: in 2003 when I read these books, I was not in a good way. I do not remember this particular time of my life with much clarity. I read these books during the first year I was with my ex-wife. For the first half of that year, she was living in South Dakota and I was in Denver. We saw one another every two weeks. For much of that time, I was smoking a great deal of weed and drinking heavily. I was tending bar at a very fashionable place. I was having a great deal of fun, even if I wasn't very happy.

For whatever reason Richard Brautigan fit in with the time for me. I have no idea why. I just remember liking the books. They are all written in very short episodic chapters, perhaps that's the reason I like them so much. Who knows?

What I do know, twenty years later, these books do not hold as much of an allure for me. Are they still worth reading? Yeah, maybe, especially if you're a little younger. Should a writer read these books? Again, maybe. I really doubt that a writer like Richard Brautigan could get anything published these days, much less twenty.

I am not done with the Richard Brautigan journey. I have those strange little volumes that were published after his death, which I may or may not read. I also have So the Wind Won't Blow It All Away, his last book. This book was my favorite of all that I read back in the day. I have always held this particular book in very high regard. It's not like I'm saving it. It's more like I want to digest what I've already reread before moving on. Who knows? I do know that of the other books I've read this year in addition to all of these, many of them are books I've been meaning to read for twenty years. I've been enjoying these books. I've been enjoying reading. Do I still love Richard Brautigan? I don't know. But I agree with him when he says “The night turns long when love sours.”