Jean-Paul Sartre – French Existentialist
I loathe my childhood and all that remains of it. So he once said. He walked the essence of existentialism. To be in the essential, gored real moment. This moment, the next, with the essence of all we know, have experienced about life through the flood of time. Not to be warped by time-processed theories, not to be tap-dancing to mere money making and superficiality with glib diarrheic composure and actions. To be immensely pure in walking your skin to new horizons that just might not be base gibberish talk.
So he walked, talked. So he discussed with Simone de Beauvoir. In that Paris coffee shop, I passed it by. I should have entered.
And then he too died. And the theories continue. Too often too glib. But he, Jean-Paul Sartre, had an essence to articulate. To be immensely honest and open to the complexity of passing time. And never to play a feeble fiddle. And to never play mere financial banality.
Yes Jean-Paul Sartre, the Seine, sombre, is still flowing. Dark, deep and longing.
