I tried to answer D’s question about metaphysics — what’s beyond our particular lives and consciousnesses — and I don’t often think in that way. My experience interests me too much, I guess. “Experience” is too vague a word. What is it I’m getting at when I write my journals, especially when I get engaged in a specific idea or today? These are ideas that came to me last night, at the party or after, and I guess I like that about myself. It’s how I am, you know? I didn’t try to get drunk or try to force it. How I am conscious involves observing, thinking — maybe others just party and let it go, maybe others tell stories — I draw conclusions, note spontaneous thoughts.
♦ Girl in orange top and jeans doing her wiggle dance as we four sat in chairs in front of the back door to Leombruni’s. …
♦ Seeing — avoiding — [former] students
♦ Some older rough biker types — not real rough, but authentic, not suburban doctors on a weekend bike ride
♦ All these people who work just to put on a party (well, and make money, and promote the city)
Apparently these thoughts just come to me. I have this experience of looking at people …, and I at some point abstract this — these — moments of experiences (these momentary experiences) into larger abstractions. But I have this drive to understand, too — my experiences seem to require processing thru writing. Well, maybe I’d do less of this if I wasn’t in the practice of getting up and writing — and yet, I had plenty to write about today, ideas from last night, and some new ideas that came as I wrote.
[From journal of Saturday, 12 July 2008, Journal 104, page 93]