Thursday, October 9, 2008


Thursday, October 9, 2008

Philip Roth writes that “old age isn’t a battle; it’s a massacre” and John Updike describes it as the “lessening of excitement.” Don DeLillo conceives of death as white noise: “what if death is nothing but sound?.... You hear it forever. Sound all around.” Death and ageing. Those are what my favorite novelists along with other authors like Michel Houllebecq, Jonathan Franzen and Ian McEwan seem to be writing a great deal about lately. What struck me is how, in their poignant, morbidly misanthropic, savage yet stunning novels, sexual angst is interwoven with growing old and dying. For these authors, sexual vitality becomes the emblematic expression of what is lost as a person ages.

Though still far from that loss-of-sexual-fervor stage, I realize how I’ve aged through the years. The changes are sometimes rapid (like the freaking lines suddenly appearing on my face), but oftentimes they’re not. When I grasped how preoccupied I was with too many trivialities and foolish beliefs and ideas when I was in my 20s; and how I have outgrown my slavish love for the idealistic Howard Roark and now have more admiration for the prurient Mickey Sabbath; and how my knees betray me when I attempt to take extra long walks, I can’t help but sigh, tumatanda na talaga ako.


Kayni said...

i don't see any lines on your face photos =). i think you look great. hmm...i don't like to take about aging because it ages me. seriously.

Anonymous said...

i look forward to stripper factories, beer volcanoes, 2 dark eyed virgins and deciding the fate of falling angels (demons). :)

Angeli said...

hi kayni, thank you. those pictures are deceiving. :)

hi anonymous, two dark-eyed virgins? what for? won't you have your wench there by your side? :)

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