Bourdain's Meaning

[nightseas]

When I found out about Bourdain's death, I sent her a message:

- Read that link. You believe it? That man was one of the only things keeping me going. I don't even get this. I think it might be Putin, but idk. There are other rumors. He traveled the world, went everywhere. It wasn't even about the food; it was about culture. I don't know who else is going to transmit info like that now. It sucks. This world sucks.

- Stop being ridiculous. Why are you even talking to me? Lol, like it even has to do with anything. I can't keep having these conversations. You don't help yourself, and my mental health can't handle this right now. What does a rich guy have to do with me?

- I was just saying. Yeah, I know I'm messed up. But there's something wrong with this world when even someone like him doesn't want to be in it. I'll leave you alone.

- lol sure

- You made me, you know? But whatever, bye

By the next day, nothing had happened, so I just left. I had other things to focus on. I was supposed to be painting, but I messed up on picking that. Who even paints anymore? Everyone has their own opinion on what's good and what's not, and usually the only good things are dead; they're in the past, all those famous painters. I came through, though. By the end of it (I don't know if it's because of everything or what), it was one of the better ones. A crowd stood up to themselves, their postures and facial expressions representing the sides. Fire and darkness in a city. I impressed myself.

Or at least I thought I did.

By the time the gallery was 10 minutes to closing, only a couple people had stood longer than a minute by my painting. Everyone was interested in the same as always, but worse. The gallery had somehow gotten their hands on a goldmine; Rasheed's iconic painting of the Brief Glance stood there among all the faithful, yet this time it was because they'd discovered through new technology that a newspaper sheet had been inserted by Rasheed as means of starting over. Beneath it, a depiction of worms wasting away a rat. Amazing, they said. A groundbreaking stance against the era's politics, which perhaps the artist had purposely hidden to avoid prosecution.

I knew at that point that I'd never succeed. It was also perhaps too late to start over with anything new. I'm not going to lie—this wrecked me. Yet it was also because of that night that, a couple days later, I thought about meaning itself. What makes something of value to anyone at all? Going back to Bourdain, I sort of realized that sometimes the meaning was gone, and no amount of crowds or accolades could ever bring it back.

And so I told her that I'd always love her, and left for good.

[rupertpupkin]

Complex piece of writing which I think deserves more than one read through. Wasn't really sure where it was going to begin with but things became clearer as I progressed. I enjoyed the tone of the piece and the conversational language used. I wil come back to this one again for sure . Enjoyed much.
(Please try to leave three comments on other people's work each time you post one of your own) Thanks. Sean.
Good read.

[miharu]

I can relate to the speaker's sense of isolation and loneliness, like feeling lost and alone in a crowded room, seeking a connection that never comes. I keep telling myself that goodbye is too permanent, though...

[nightseas]

I can relate to the speaker's sense of isolation and loneliness, like feeling lost and alone in a crowded room, seeking a connection that never comes. I keep telling myself that goodbye is too permanent, though...

TIme goes by quickly; even our short goodbyes end up being more permanent than they seem.

[Wes Corona]

I am perplexed and simple. Simply put, I don't completely understand, but I do find this piece intriguing and interesting. And, I don't know why, because I am shallow of mind, and just don't mind.

[rupertpupkin]

Remember this one fondly. Great write and most deserving of a spotlight. Well done with this one.