I love the British Romantics. If you do NOT know that William Wordsworth would be mine if he were still alive, well... you definitely know now and should consider getting to know me better.
I love the British Romantics for many reasons. (Note: don't even think about the Americans. Seriously. Don't. I have nothing to say. Well, I do, but not now, people, focus!)
As much as I love the dynamic quality of my British homeboys/soulmates/kindred spirits, I wonder if I'm a Romantic activist. (Note: please don't get Romanticism confused with anything related to Romantic comedies, hopeless romanticism, or Valentine's Day.)
I'm talking about nature-loving, spiritual, self-learning Romanticism.
After reading 136 pages of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," I rethought romantic ideals. Pirsig, in all his Phaedrus/Plato attempts, completely shut down romanticism, and you know what? Screw him.
Maybe I don't have the "classic" mindset when it comes to lubing up a friggin motorcycle on a cross-country expedition, but maybe my technicality in breaking down his poorly-written sentences isn't enough for him. Maybe inky fingers aren't "dirty" enough in a "romantic"'s life. Maybe obsessing about cooking and cleaning kitchens is too domestic to be classic or not relatable enough to the egotystical, "classic" and "well-rounded" male.
Maybe I am a romantic for wanting to embrace nature rather than philosophize about it. I'd rather toss a stir-fry than contemplate the actuality if that frying pan really exists. I'd rather take on meaningless jobs than build a "suitable career" for the "practical lifestyle."
Maybe I need to graduate soon and peace the heck out of here.
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