john rose.pdf
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untitled I often suspect I’ve begun down the path to insanity. I realize, during more lucid moments, that I’ve convinced myself I’m a walking daguerreotype of some embellished breed of Timeless Man, that woodsman that lives outside of town in the novel, who gives the sissy city characters valuable transcendental insight regarding the infinitely universal weight of their petty problems, that is, on the off-chance that they should find themselves in his company, perhaps out on a walk or at the General Store in town. Smoke-scented, covered in a muddy film, perpetually wiping the blood of some expendable fauna off of his knife and hands, this Man will frowningly spout off something that sounds like it came from an almanac in regards to why any given thing, from the economy to the protagonist’s love life to the hunting season, is in the condition it so happens to be in, before departing, tall, in a westerly direction to prepare for his next violent victory. Also—and this is where I feel the strongest connection—he frequently finds himself flummoxed in cosmopolitan situations and has a laughably misguided approach to current fashion or trends. In truth I don’t really see myself like this. I use expensive shampoo, subscribe to Netflix and put pesto on my poppyseed bagel as much as the next city boy. I suspect that my aforementioned diversion from sanity has much to do with justifying lazy social awkwardness and complete ignorance towards trends and fashions by comparing myself to Leonard Smalls. But deep down, in order to get through the day, not because life is sullen but because most neighborhoods within fifty miles of my house are, it helps to convince myself that there is an epic vein running through this corporate-sheltered age; more wonderful still to feel myself a part of it. For instance, when, between myself and the opposite sex, the inevitable domestic disagreements arise, what is this wall of stubbornness I build around myself? Is it a deepseated reluctance to love, sacrifice and commitment which I could perhaps work to resolve over time with some serious introspection and genuine attempts at empathy and surrender? Nah. Think of ancient Babylon, of the Spartan warriors, of our boys in Normandy: none of these Men would worry themselves with “Maybe she doesn’t like me,” or “Maybe she likes me too much.” Sorry honey, I’ve gotta keep movin’ on. The world’s just sittin’ there, waitin’ for me to take it over. It’s just what men always do. You wouldn’t understand. Depart in westerly direction. It goes without saying that this caliber of humanity is dependent on a number of key items—and who cares how developed you are emotionally—including the obligatory rustic house just over the crest of the hill. But have you ever looked into adopting the rugged lifestyle? Illusions of simplicity are put quickly to rest. First step, live out in the country: high cost of living. See that bucolic cabin with the tell-tale smoke trailing from the chimney? Yeah. It’s pushing $300k. Oh, you’re going to build it yourself? On whose land? You understand what property taxes are, right? Next: contact the county about getting power lines out to your property, which will cost you a pretty penny. Where are you going? You say you’re just going to rent an apartment in town? Before this modern obsession with exerting as little physical will as possible, Real Men were Real because reality necessitated that only the really fit survived. But now, what with all the advances in urban climate-control, what could once be called “the hard life” is now a luxury which men work all their lives to achieve. It’s like wealth: if you aren’t born into it, it’s tricky to nail down. Somewhere down the line, a greedy pencilpusher won a few battles and decided that humanity’s rustic standard of living endangered him and his kind. Thanks to him, today you have to build up strength both physical and mental in your leisure time, usually during retirement, after all your muscles are shot. Now, the real trial is holding a sit-down job indoors in the city for decades, trying to save up enough money to go get rugged, hopefully before the computer fries your brain into forgetting why it was you even decided to accrue so much student loan debt in the first place. Real heroism is in the job interview, and today’s villains attack with paperwork. Hypocritical and self-hating? Yes. I spend most days on my ass in front of a laptop and haven’t spent a night outside of central heat and air in almost a year. But hear me out—my notions are only somewhat grandiose and my image of the Hero is not limited to literature or imagination. These musings stem from an experience that is very real indeed.
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