I drove into Grand Rapids tonight. This means I nihilated the 1200 square foot space that is my home. Nihilation is a strong word. It's straight from the tome Being and Nothingness, written by John Paul Sartre. I chose to be here at the bar of Mixology instead of drinking a Budweiser overlooking the bullrushes of Mona Lake. To me, I have temporarily annihilated my dwelling. Yes, when a dust speck falls on my kitchen table and I am not there to see it or hear it, the dust speck makes the dining room table shudder ever so slightly, despite my absence. But this happens outside my facticity, the fact that I am here listening to organic sounds on the lounge music providing an exotic environment at Mixology. I am hearing this sound track and not the sound of falling dust. Given good luck and Godspeed, I might return to my home, but that's still to be determined. I have drank a glass of Founders and my valet pass is validated. And I wish to carouse the city until two, in a sense creating this city by my observation and participation.
This is the world given to me by an automobile. I turn a key in the ignition and the outside come loose. That's stolen from Wallace Steven's poem about looking at Blackbirds 23 or so different ways. In the summer time, my view of . The automobile gives me the power to nihilate the possibilities of my home. Worry not home, and personifying my home is bullshit. I will vouch for your reality by sleeping until ten within your walls. That's a project and a promise.
Wow, just met a couple who spends three months a year hunting in Africa, a couple that met in seventh grade. That's why I spend so much time away from home. The fascinating people are out there.
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