On Wallace and Chocolate

March 25, 2012 § Leave a comment

I was wrong, wrong, wrong to despair.  Searching the library catalogue today (and finding that it carries 30 or more books about David Foster Wallace, and only 3 of his works – by the by…) I am blown to pieces by knowledge and information, and the fact that in 6 months or so I may easily be ejected from what I alone seem to remember is the path of enlightenment, back into an unchanging orbit littered with ignorance and simplicity.  The fact that I, a woman from the working class, can be sitting here honing my dialectical method over a stylistic hotbed of the ‘greatest’ philosophical minds is an aspect of the modern world which I think can be unequivocally described as ‘progress’ – an idea I wish to tackle in another post when I am not so very busy.

There were aspects of Postmodernism I hated even when it was trendy, and it is irritating that now that the academic cycle has deemed that this label, which became a catch-all (possibly implying that a symptom of Postmodernity is laziness), has expired, the very things which I always saw as a problem are being cited, while the period itself has shrunk from an epic postwar-to-terror epoch to an unfortunate glitch between 1965 and the fall of the Berlin Wall.  I wrote my definitive opinion piece on this in my final year of uni.  It fetched me a High Distinction, but not a spectacular enough one – extreme relativism had not officially had the knell (I was a few weeks early), thus I was still in “you didn’t understand the material” territory.  This is one of the things which prompted my previous post, and some very alluring escapist fantasies about journalism.  Not here, obviously.  I would rather whip natives bringing me diamonds out of the sludge with their bare hands than work for any Australian media, but there might be somewhere else, somewhere  I could extricate myself from mass imbecilic cock-sucking reportage and enter the domain of actual reportage or opinion.  Somewhere with more people.  In fact, the only aspect of  population expansion I support is that it would undoubtedly result in the production of more thinkers.  As such, eventually – and I see this – we might have our own country.  Not Iceland, either.  One cannot cook up the answers to effective existence in the universe if one’s gonadal glands are frozen solid whenever one ventures out for chocolate.

Oh yes, that’s right.  I found this rather spiffing chocolate substitute.  I don’t even like chocolate, really.  It tastes like some sort of super concentrated meal-block designed for trecking the Himalayas. But I still want it or something equally as stimulating while poring over dead white males, and usually don’t succumb because of the calories.  Thus, I am happy to have found this weird health-bar thing in Coles which to my metabolism feels rather better than chocolate because it doesn’t have any actual sugar.  Tastes like diet fudge.  It may well be a temporary fascination, since it offers the sort of food experience which is considerably improved through remaining a mystery:  containing, for example, something called ‘hydrolysed collagen’ which by memory is probably extracted from chicken necks but, whatever.  It’s a Postmodern solution to a Modern addiction.  And this is a fucking thesis.


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