Status: Complete
Wild Child: Love Cannot Save You Part 1
The Birth of Tragedy
“Please?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on Phil why are you being like this?”
“I just don’t want you to come that’s all.”
Phil and his newfound friends were going to hang out somewhere after school, and Caroline wanted desperately to join them. She was tired of being by herself all the time, and wanted to enjoy the company of people other than her brother. But Phil didn’t seem to want his little sister tagging along.
“You never had a problem with it before,” she argued, from behind her bedroom door.
“Just not today, ok?” He sighed, looking frustrated as she emerged from her room.
“And,” he added, taking in her outfit, “definitely not if you’re going to wear that.”
“Oh, please, Phil,” she rolled her eyes, “I have to wear those abysmal skirts and sweaters all the time at school. Anyway, since when did you turn into such a cube?”
“It’s not like that-“ he started.
“Great, then you won’t mind if I come.”
The two of them argued for quite some time until, eventually, Caroline got her way. She knew that her brother had a hard time saying no to her, and she had no problem using that to her advantage when she needed to.
__________________________________________________________________________________
“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.” Phil muttered to himself as they made their way down Woodland Terrace.
“Why,” Caroline asked excitedly, overhearing his words, “where are we going? Some place dangerous?”
“Not-“ he started, but didn’t get a chance to finish. They had walked around a familiar stone house, crossed through the back yard and stopped in front of what seemed to be the back door.
Caroline’s heart was in her throat. She recognized this house. This was where Jim lived. At least, that was what she had gathered when she had seen him on the stone wall a few days earlier. But apparently, she had been wrong, because it wasn’t Jim who opened the door to let them in. It was Phil’s friend Jeff, wearing his usual friendly smile.
“Hey,” he greeted, motioning for them to come in. They entered what Caroline presumed to be the basement of the house, and her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings.
Decorated sheets blocked off sinks and washing machines on the sides of the room, and some of the most amazing artwork she’d ever seen was hung up on the walls. What really grabbed her attention, however, was the three or four wooden bookshelves that looked as if they were filled with at least several hundred books. She leaned back against a small table, trying to make out some of the titles, and heard something crash. Startled, she turned to pick up whatever had fallen, and found a wind up alarm clock laying on its side. As she turned it over, she noticed that it was set to 8:20.
“I find that that’s a good time,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her, “neither too early nor too late to do anything.”
Caroline turned, and felt her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. Standing behind her, an amused look on his face, was none other than Jim Morrison. It was no wonder her brother hadn’t wanted her to tag along. Speaking of which, where was her brother? And where were all his friends?
“They went to get something out of the car,” Jim said, seeming to read her mind. Caroline flushed again. Had she really been that out of it?
“So you’re Phil’s sister,” he said. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.
“Yeah,” she nodded.
There was a moment of silence as Caroline moved to examine the books on the nearest shelf.
“You read Kerouac?!” She exclaimed, her face lighting up. “And,” she scanned the shelves quickly, “Ginsberg, Holmes, Burroughs, Corso, Ferlinghetti…” she trailed off, looking at him with wide eyes. “I live by their work!”
“Really?” He grinned that boyish grin, studying her closely. “I love the Beat writers. I like to think of them as the creators of a new literary dimension.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed, “but I really do enjoy the 19th and early 20th century writers just as much. Do you read Kafka?”
“Of course,” he grinned, gesturing toward a copy of “Diary 1910-1923”.
“His themes are just so intriguing. The way they project the alienation of the twentieth century man.”
“Have you ever read Nietzsche?” He asked suddenly.
“No,” she answered, finding herself embarrassed, “I haven’t.”
“Oh,” he said, “well if you like philosophy at all you really should read his work. The Birth of Tragedy is my personal favorite. The primary theme in that is the recognition of interplay between the two primary artistic impulses; the Apollonian and the Dionysian, in Greek tragedy.”
“Really,” said Caroline, who was very intrigued by this, “what does he say about them?”
“The Apollonian,” explained Jim, who seemed absolutely thrilled to be discussing the topic, “emphasizes discreet limitation, self control, and freedom from all extravagant urges. While the Dionysian state emphasizes physical intoxication and celebrates the eternal delight of existence. He says that European culture has been heavily dominated by Apollonian thought since the time of Socrates and has, as a result, suffered. So as a solution, he encourages a full release of Dionysian thought and activity.”
“So,” said Caroline, “he proposes a creative lifestyle? One where we celebrate human existence and search for truth?”
“Exactly,” said Jim, now looking at her with a great deal of interest.
“I think,” she grinned, “that this guy was really on to something.”
“You can borrow this if you want,” he offered, holding out a battered copy. “I have all of his work. Beyond Good and Evil and On the Genealogy of Morals are also two of my favorites. I-“
He was cut off by the sound of the back door opening.
“Sorry we took so long,” said Jeff, who was carrying a large dartboard. “Durkee couldn’t find his keys and-“ he stopped, his eyes going from Jim to Caroline. “Are we interrupting something?”
“No,” said Jim, not taking his eyes off the red headed girl, “you’re not interrupting anything.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on Phil why are you being like this?”
“I just don’t want you to come that’s all.”
Phil and his newfound friends were going to hang out somewhere after school, and Caroline wanted desperately to join them. She was tired of being by herself all the time, and wanted to enjoy the company of people other than her brother. But Phil didn’t seem to want his little sister tagging along.
“You never had a problem with it before,” she argued, from behind her bedroom door.
“Just not today, ok?” He sighed, looking frustrated as she emerged from her room.
“And,” he added, taking in her outfit, “definitely not if you’re going to wear that.”
“Oh, please, Phil,” she rolled her eyes, “I have to wear those abysmal skirts and sweaters all the time at school. Anyway, since when did you turn into such a cube?”
“It’s not like that-“ he started.
“Great, then you won’t mind if I come.”
The two of them argued for quite some time until, eventually, Caroline got her way. She knew that her brother had a hard time saying no to her, and she had no problem using that to her advantage when she needed to.
__________________________________________________________________________________
“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.” Phil muttered to himself as they made their way down Woodland Terrace.
“Why,” Caroline asked excitedly, overhearing his words, “where are we going? Some place dangerous?”
“Not-“ he started, but didn’t get a chance to finish. They had walked around a familiar stone house, crossed through the back yard and stopped in front of what seemed to be the back door.
Caroline’s heart was in her throat. She recognized this house. This was where Jim lived. At least, that was what she had gathered when she had seen him on the stone wall a few days earlier. But apparently, she had been wrong, because it wasn’t Jim who opened the door to let them in. It was Phil’s friend Jeff, wearing his usual friendly smile.
“Hey,” he greeted, motioning for them to come in. They entered what Caroline presumed to be the basement of the house, and her eyes widened as she took in her surroundings.
Decorated sheets blocked off sinks and washing machines on the sides of the room, and some of the most amazing artwork she’d ever seen was hung up on the walls. What really grabbed her attention, however, was the three or four wooden bookshelves that looked as if they were filled with at least several hundred books. She leaned back against a small table, trying to make out some of the titles, and heard something crash. Startled, she turned to pick up whatever had fallen, and found a wind up alarm clock laying on its side. As she turned it over, she noticed that it was set to 8:20.
“I find that that’s a good time,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her, “neither too early nor too late to do anything.”
Caroline turned, and felt her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. Standing behind her, an amused look on his face, was none other than Jim Morrison. It was no wonder her brother hadn’t wanted her to tag along. Speaking of which, where was her brother? And where were all his friends?
“They went to get something out of the car,” Jim said, seeming to read her mind. Caroline flushed again. Had she really been that out of it?
“So you’re Phil’s sister,” he said. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.
“Yeah,” she nodded.
There was a moment of silence as Caroline moved to examine the books on the nearest shelf.
“You read Kerouac?!” She exclaimed, her face lighting up. “And,” she scanned the shelves quickly, “Ginsberg, Holmes, Burroughs, Corso, Ferlinghetti…” she trailed off, looking at him with wide eyes. “I live by their work!”
“Really?” He grinned that boyish grin, studying her closely. “I love the Beat writers. I like to think of them as the creators of a new literary dimension.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed, “but I really do enjoy the 19th and early 20th century writers just as much. Do you read Kafka?”
“Of course,” he grinned, gesturing toward a copy of “Diary 1910-1923”.
“His themes are just so intriguing. The way they project the alienation of the twentieth century man.”
“Have you ever read Nietzsche?” He asked suddenly.
“No,” she answered, finding herself embarrassed, “I haven’t.”
“Oh,” he said, “well if you like philosophy at all you really should read his work. The Birth of Tragedy is my personal favorite. The primary theme in that is the recognition of interplay between the two primary artistic impulses; the Apollonian and the Dionysian, in Greek tragedy.”
“Really,” said Caroline, who was very intrigued by this, “what does he say about them?”
“The Apollonian,” explained Jim, who seemed absolutely thrilled to be discussing the topic, “emphasizes discreet limitation, self control, and freedom from all extravagant urges. While the Dionysian state emphasizes physical intoxication and celebrates the eternal delight of existence. He says that European culture has been heavily dominated by Apollonian thought since the time of Socrates and has, as a result, suffered. So as a solution, he encourages a full release of Dionysian thought and activity.”
“So,” said Caroline, “he proposes a creative lifestyle? One where we celebrate human existence and search for truth?”
“Exactly,” said Jim, now looking at her with a great deal of interest.
“I think,” she grinned, “that this guy was really on to something.”
“You can borrow this if you want,” he offered, holding out a battered copy. “I have all of his work. Beyond Good and Evil and On the Genealogy of Morals are also two of my favorites. I-“
He was cut off by the sound of the back door opening.
“Sorry we took so long,” said Jeff, who was carrying a large dartboard. “Durkee couldn’t find his keys and-“ he stopped, his eyes going from Jim to Caroline. “Are we interrupting something?”
“No,” said Jim, not taking his eyes off the red headed girl, “you’re not interrupting anything.”