Americaphiles

The Story Of My Fucking Life

Twelve

Posted by ilbebe on December 17, 2008

12. A phrase I had been juggling for quite some time was The Future Is Unwritten. I realized earlier today that the reason I hadn’t quite been able to settle with it was that I was missing its counterbalance: And Shall Remain So Until The End of Time. This led me to a further counterbalance: The End Is No End, and This Is Not The End. There is no End of History, Death Is Not The End, and No Door Can Be Closed Without a Window Opening.

I cannot recommend strongly enough the film The Last Waltz. Directed by Martin Scorsese, it combines concert footage with interviews conducted afterwards with the members of The Band to tell their story. It makes you laugh, it makes you cry, it should be played loud, it’s an adult portion, and towards the beginning Robbie Robertson says [This] is the end of the beginning of the beginning of the end. Sha-wowza. It would take a hundred monkeys working on a hundred typewriters a hundred years to diagram the structure of that palindrome.

One of my favorite stories from the film is about when the band played a spectacularly crappy venue in Dallas in the early sixties that turned out to be owned by Jack Ruby. One of my favorite memories of viewing the film was on January First, 2007. I was at my friend Marie’s ex-girlfriend’s home in the Outer Sunset district of San Francisco, about four miles away from where the historic concert had taken place on Thanksgiving Day, 1976. Approximately thirty years- what are the significance of these numbers? Their significance is merely that which we assign to them, these numbers are but reminders.

Remember Leslie Feist and the song I Feel It All? It came from the album The Reminder. I didn’t hear the full album until just a few months ago, but I came to find out that it had been extraordinarily important to my friend Jenny in the summer of ’07. I guess things find you when they need to, and if you think they don’t, think again. I finally registered to vote yesterday. The day before that, I’d had a long and wonderful conversation with a Scotsman at a bar in Berkeley who repeated the old line “Don’t vote, it only encourages them” to me several times. He almost had me convinced. An hour and a half ago, I helped my friend Whitney register. We will win this war by calling it something different. A war of ideas and ideologies cannot be won because you cannot kill an idea. You cannot burn a thought or a hope of a brighter tomorrow.

The future will be unwritten because we won’t have to write any of it down. These passions will burn themselves into our hearts and minds and those of our countrymen because we are tired of the current struggles. No one need die in the next evolution, and there need be no trial to assign any blame. We are young and innocent, and we are lovers.

Good tidings, and the rest of the day to you. I’ll be back, as soon as I can. I’ve got to go wish my mother a Happy Birthday. I can’t wait to see you all again. Peace.

12:55 PM, Tuesday, September 30, 2008.

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