Joy Division - Control

First and foremost, I love this song. Joy Division is one of those bands that always plays to the extremities of emotion. You can’t half-ass a JD song. And if you try, you didn’t get it in the first place. A collusion of events has driven me back to the perceived struggle between destiny and control, and how response mechanisms define worldviews. Really, isn’t every action in real terms a response?

Last night I had a dream that I still lived in, or had moved back to, Niagara Falls. I’m not really sure of the time since there existed characters of both past and present. I can be sure that it wasn’t right now because it was warm in my dream, and I’m 100% sure that place is currently an arctic tundra. Regardless, I was enjoying myself and in the process of starting a train ride north to Toronto.

I love trains; they are comfortable, efficient as hell, and nobody uses them. You always have an entire row to yourself, and can stretch out and enjoy uninhibited views of the countryside. In this dream, I’ve relaxed and prepared myself for a few hours train ride with a good book (Roberto Bolano’s The Savage Detectives) and a good snack (Cheez-Its, hat tip to my brother). As departure is impending, I look out the window and see my school principal in the terminal, presumably waiting for a train of his own. I haven’t seen him for a while because his presence creates a particular level of excitement.

Collecting my belongings, I rush off the train to go say hello. The conductor pulls his whistle to signify the release from the gate. My once leisurely pace has increased in gait, and so do the events around me. A check to my pockets reveals that I’ve misplaced my phone. I rush back on the train, find my misplaced phone, and rush off. The train leaves. Another quick check. My phone is secure; my keys and wallet are not. The rest of the dream centers around an assortment of unsuccessful attempts to reclaim what has been lost.

This artificial anguish, I think, is positioned directly between the real pratfalls I have experienced in the past week. I can’t help but think of the notion of “control.” To what extent do we dictate our surroundings? Certainly one needs to assume a healthy balance of fate and control, but where does that point lie? And how is it found?

One reason I believe I enjoy Latin American literature so much is its passion. Irresistable, untenable passion. The words simultaneously scorch and leap from the page, certain in the belief that what is being said must be heard. How the message is transmitted varies, be it elusive (Borges), wistful (Marquez), fecund (Cortazar), or salacious (Bolano); but all have urgency. Do they lack control?

I would argue no, although this can be a difficult sell. Reading their stories feels as though you are continually pulling a string, and one is unsure of whether they are being led to a conclusion or simply unraveling what has been set in place. And still, both have an end. You judge the worth of the outcome. This loose control, the kind that exists around the whole (as opposed to incrementally) is what I’m trying to attain. It’s not easy, but it’s like a train ride- a journey I don’t mind taking. And more importantly, both get me away from a visit to Niagara.