I have never felt comfortable around people who talk about their feelings for Jesus, or any other deity for that matter, because they are usually none too bright... Or maybe "stupid" is a better way of saying it; but I have never seen much point in getting heavy with either stupid people or Jesus freaks, just as long as they don't bother me. In a world as weird and cruel as this one we have made for ourselves, I figure anybody who can find peace and personal happiness without ripping off somebody else deserves to be left alone. They will not inherit the earth, but then neither will I... And I have learned to live, as it were, with the idea that I will never find peace and happiness, either. But as long as I know there's a pretty good chance I can get my hands on either one of them every once in a while, I do the best I can between high spots (Hunter S. Thompson).
Sometimes there is nothing you can do to help people but not be mean to them.
I made a mistake and asked The Traveler what she wanted to do, how she saw her future life unfolding. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't. I guess I just wanted to hear a tale. She was uncertain, she said, and was trying to figure it out. Most of what she dreamed I considered terribly unrealistic, and so I made a bigger mistake and tried to point some of that out to her. This is too vague a statement, I know, and it wants details, but I am not prepared to give them. Mostly, I worried that she had already made some irrevocable decisions that would limit some of her choices about things. O.K. It needs an example. I will give one.
Her tats. She told me that people did not like her, that they treated her differently, and I, ignoramus that I am, asked her, "What did you think would happen when you started inking yourself up? Did you not think you were putting yourself outside something?"
The look in her eye. . . oy.
"No. . . I wasn't trying to piss anybody off. I wanted to make them happy. It is art! This is a new generation. We are changing things. It is time. Young people are different now. I feel I have a purpose in life. Didn't you feel you had a purpose when you were my age?" She was earnest and eager.
I thought about her question for a minute, trying to remember.
"No," I said. "I didn't feel I had a purpose."
I tried to recall what I felt about life. But it wasn't that. I felt no mysticism, spoke to no invisible friends. I had art and literature. Or aspired to, anyway. I believed I was like the statue of the man carving himself from stone.
I could only hope that she was right, that things would turn out alright for her. But I didn't see how sleeping under overpasses and scamming people for gas and getting more tats was going to change the world. I thought about her competition, all the kids in the Middle East and India and China. They all wanted something, too.
The day after the shoot, she posted a sweet note. Better than most.
She is on the Mardi Gras streets now. I hope that is working out.
I worry about you.
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