October 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
I think I may have just yelled out “some people are going to think you’re a wanker” in a humanities classroom. True enough, but it leaves one in the long standing predicament that one can’t really imagine life without a brand of intellectualism that exists largely in one’s own head.
“That is it. That is called a novelist. Congratulations. Now go and get a shit-box in the Riverland and masturbate yourself into a masterpiece.”
No that is not it. I’m not *really* considering switching to science, except as a way to make new metaphors (surely the task at hand) and as a form of escapism that involves a fantasy of being around a lot of straight-talking people with technical skills, which I am only getting right now in novel form. In reality I am aware that it is full of methodological beardy-weirdies who are excited by barometers and from what I can tell there is even less opportunity to swing by on charisma.
– I was teased at school for being a nerd and have a chip on my shoulder. Now you will suffer me.
– I have a lot of man issues and am looking for somewhere to cloister myself with feminists.
– I have a lot of woman issues and am looking for somewhere to cloister myself with hot college students.
– I wanted to be a writer/actor/director but wasn’t very good at it. Then I died. Now I enjoy hanging shit on writers/actors/directors.
– I don’t like work.
– I’m obsessed with work.
– “Understanding” Continental philosophy is my penis.
– Stupid people become embroiled in capitalism and I’m not a stupid person as is evidenced by my non-involvement with capitalism.
– I want to meet intelligent lesbians.
– I think that viewing The Simpsons as a conspiracy is empowering.
– It was my best subject at school and I took the path of least resistance, now I am so specialised that the unwelcome incidence of a contextual question could eventuate in stress leave and a harassment case.
– Kant, Derrida, Derrida, Derrida, Derrida. Derrida.
– I believe that bullshit is preventing war.
– I love reading and writing because it illuminates the mystery and complexity of the only evidence we have about what it means to be alive, which is a fairly insufferable experience, almost all of the time. Some people are talented.
October 4, 2011 § Leave a comment
I should be writing an essay. I don’t think there are going to be any awards this semester, or maybe not even any HD’s. I feel most dismayed with how things are panning, time-wise. I can’t even positively say what the formula was for winning the last prize, it just sort of spilled out. And I found this fucking ripper of an article that just seemed to boil things down to the science. Who can argue with the science? That has been my tactic, actually, just hit them with something from another department (I have been in all of them).
There isn’t any gossip. Apart from deadlines, which make me watery in the bowel, and the grind of poverty which subjects me endlessly to my own cooking, my life is idyllic in the extreme. I can walk everywhere and regularly just do so until I hit the sea. I have a small library in my house and a big one at the end of the street. I have a coffee machine and a king size bed full of paper. Noone that I can’t switch off is making me feel bad. Apart from the acting thing, I have achieved everything that I wanted by 30-ish (travel, degree, friends). After hating Facebook with a passion when it came out, it has become the delight of my existence. I got over the technological intrusion, the feelings of inadequacy and the questionable privacy, and realised that it is basically NICE PEOPLE AND CHATTING, the very things that I like! I could waste the rest of my life on it, and must be careful not to do that.
Ok this has been dull, sorry.