So we talk on a cell phone to people in Indiana while jogging on the beach without seeing the beach, and gather on social media into huge separation-denying disembodied groups while ignoring the people around us. I find this virtual existence weird, and as a way of life, absurd. This could be because I am eighty-four years old. It could also be because it is weird, an absurd way to live.
“Why can we fall in love with someone who, five years earlier, did not have the same effect on us? Why do we suddenly see one friend more than another? I think we’re conditioned by our own questions to gravitate towards a person whom we can share them with.”
Meursault, L’étranger de Camus and Holden Caufield, The Catcher in the Rye. They are the same. They are young and lost. They don’t really understand how to integrate the world of adults. Meursault kills someone and doesn’t know why and Holden just escapes school and walks around Central Park. They’re anti-heros, that’s what I like about them. They escape, they have no real goals and they don’t want to obey. Holden’s wasting his time, of course he’s expelled from school, but instead of going home and getting yelled at, he rambles, talks to a nun, a prostitute, a cab driver… He wanders. He’s a hobo.