I’ve been low-key discussing fate on my personal blog over the last little while. Obviously my logical and intelligent side is reluctant to consider such things, but sometimes my romantic side wins out. And to be honest it feels kind of nice when I let it. Julia Cameron has this theory of synchronicity that she shares in her books. It’s something that I’ve always kind of loved. The cynic in me wins more frequently these days, but perhaps the lofty girl still exists. The girl who decided that sure, maybe art does float around in the atmosphere, looking for a vessel to land on. Let’s go with that. Then it’s totally not your fault when the air art lands on you and it’s a bit shit. It’s luck, not talent/ability at play, right?
As usual, I digress.
I was talking about fate though. In relation to Richard Brautigan. You see, it becomes a little hard not to believe in fate when I keep accidentally stumbling upon the right book for me, even though it makes no logical sense for me to know so. I found In Watermelon Sugar at one of the bookshops at the Garden Route Mall just outside of George. And I bought it just because.
I didn’t know who Richard Brautigan was and I still don’t. And yet this little book. Oh this book. How I love it so, even after multiple readings.
How is it that a book written in the sixties feels as if it so contemporarily speaks to my present self?
I don’t know. I just know that I need to lay my hands on more of this man’s works. Because I find his mind to be quite remarkable.