Infinite Misanthropy


None so perfect as the sound in my hands

Montreal was entertaining. Good to see and paint with everyone. Kind've annoyed at myself for not seeing some people, but that's how it goes.

On the drive home, I was thinking about girls. I really am soured on relationships and it sucks. I'm just making life harder for myself (or letting things bother me that shouldn't, which amounts to the same thing).

I'm actually furious at myself for letting it get this way, I'm stupid for doing it. I'm not really as big a hater as I've become. Fuck. (Fuck YOU still though) (That's the problem right there, son).

In other news, being a lousy drunk is starting to wear thin. Getting a job and having enough money to eat delicious food and go places I want to is starting to pick up steam.

Shut up shut up shut up
uh get stupit

Depth Charges

I'm not sour about it, but I know I'll never really be deep about anything other than minor concerns. I think I'm capable enough of a kind of superficial profundity: I can tell you how awful I am. But it's not even really depth at my level. I'm always more like sounding the depths and reporting my findings. I don' have a bathysphere. And it's unlikely I'll get one. At best I'm Philip Roth's apprentice's tailor. At worst, I'm a ______________-ian.

Still and all, I'd like to think I could maybe once, perhaps, before I die... think a thought. One worth thinking.

I always think a girl will change everything. But, really, honestly, true: a girl only ever makes me more like I am. And that's maybe a good thing. In a way that's almost too complex to annotate. So I won't.

T.S. Eliot kind of disgusts me

I had a dream about a civilization spanning tens of thousands of years which was entirely devoted to studying the life and death of a single blade of grass. In the dream it made sense that it was the 'same' blade of grass over the various millenia, but I guess thinking about it now, it would have to be a blade of grass just in general. Anyway, the interesting part about the dream for me was that no one was actually interested in the blade of grass, not even the people who cared for it. I mean it's not that they were actively disinterested in it, it just wasn't an issue. When I woke up I thought that it was kind of funny, and obviously (if we want to get to thinking about me in particular) connected to my stupid concerns about my relationship to academic philosophy etc. But then I started thinking that maybe the people studying the blade of grass were interested in it to such an extent that it actually disappeared as an object of concern for them. I guess it would be like God in the middle ages, if there were no theologians or something. It informed so much of what they did and how they lived their lives that it was no longer meaningful to talk or think 'about' it because the whole basis for speech and thought was connected to it--it couldn't possibly be an issue. Then I started thinking about how interesting it would be if we could think on longer time scales, if we could think of science (or whatever we would call it) as something which was only meaningful over the span of thousands of millenia. We would have to be very different, we'd have to do something that couldn't even possibly be meaningful for a human. I think that's what science now aims at but it never really happens for anyone. That's kind of depressing in a way I suppose. Really it's only depressing to the point that we're willing to remain immature. So for me, it's very depressing.

In any case, I like the idea of a whole civilization devoting itself to a crystalline understanding of a blade of grass (from which everything would follow, though that would be beside the point really). It was a beautiful dream.

You might be able to show me fear in a handful of dust; when will you show me love in a blade of grass

Where you been.
Why ain't you here.
Still always (just) a curiosity.

DJ Altruism

I'm making a mix CD for BIG EARL, and I feel pretty fucking good about it. I'm posting the track listing on here so I can look at it and bask in my beatitude.

And that's why you don't not make CDs for your friends.

It might not even be possible.
Nobody knows what logic is.
Effort strains; 2 years from now it'd be nice to be.
I'm sick of thinking.
Wake me up when it's over, &c.

Hello! Greetings!

Two quotes from my day so far:

  • 1. "Where you beeeeen, you craaazy girr-rr-ul?"
  • 2. "My father died yesterday in the afternoon. He had the most beautiful death that I can imagine; without the slightest pains and falling asleep like a child! I did not feel sad for a single moment during all the last hours, but most joyful and I think that his death was worth a whole life."
  • It pleases me to think of our possibilities, friend. (Friend so far).

    It pleases me to think of you.

    I'm feeling pretty scattered today, as usual I suppose. My Frege class made me start thinking about getting a Master's in mathematics...but that's just idle gear-shifting in my brain that I won't do anything about. (Clearly more school is not the answer to any of my questions). I'm at home in my hermeticism lately though, moreso than has been the case. Still and all....well you know.

    I'm never sure if my life is increasing or decreasing in complexity.

    I guess it depends how far I zoom in on things. I'd like to think I'm simplifying everything but...

     My kind of simplicity is just a stupider complexity.
    Or ignorance of complexity.

    (I'd like my life to be worth a whole life, how much more so my death; and how much more improbable).

    Well, we'll see where it all goes if we don't get blinded by acid or circumstance two steps into the game. The key is to avoid certain tangents, and cherish others even while you forget about them.

    That's the key.

    Elephants away!

    Fuck, whenever I complain about the isolated pathetic mess that my life is, remind me that my friends are where it's at and everywhere else is where it ain't.

    I love all my friends, even the new ones, even my enemies, even you (sometimes).

    I should get a job, quit it, and paint all fucking day because it's what makes me happy.

    Hopefully I get my taxes this week so I can set it off in Montreal this weekend.

    Eyes forward.
    Hands where I can see 'em.

    Leben ist völlig sinnlos, wieviel so Lieben.

    When you're knee-deep in attempts to found logic without psychology, you really appreciate Nietzsche's dictum that you shouldn't trust any thought that didn't come to you while outside, walking.

    Sometimes when I'm cloistered indoors, poring over tomes and hunting down bibliograms, I can see why philosophy is often considered a self-inflicted (and potentially self-cured) disease. Despite our modern refusal to see Galen as a philosopher, I think we could all learn something from the iatric professions. Pay attention to your hooves and fangs and you'll learn a lot more than analyzing if-then statements, to be sure.

     A miasma of learned decay and erudite entropy!

    Well, this weekend I'll clear the fog with vandalism and excess.

    All this moderation is too much.
    Breakout and makeout.

    If anything happens to me, then I shouldn't take it for granted please.

    A quote from inlet: Neck back and eyes gazing, there's that night; you vomiting alone, me vomiting alone. And there's the sleep, you sitting up, me on my side.

    I recently posted this in a forum debating whether or not to show images of the dead soldiers coming back from the war:

    We need to be reminded that real people are dying. We need to put a face on the sacrifice. Those dead are not just faceless mercenaries volunteers whose fate is moot since they asked to be where they are. If someone visited America today and was not aware we are at war (I realize that there are Bush apologists who still do not recognize that this is war), they wouldn't know by observing us.

    Honoring the dead is more than just comforting the friends and family. That is the primary reason, true. Yet there are times when death takes on deeper ramifications, as when someone dies for a cause.

    I am not advocating a press feeding frenzy at the church and graveside. The military could have a single photographer from the press corps of the departed person's branch of service (as I believe they do now.) The regular press can then draw from the family-approved images for publication.

    I am advocating making our war dead public is to ensure we are aware of the deaths so we can think and discuss amongst one another what these deaths mean and the situation that caused them.

    How many Americans if asked right now could tell you roughly how many Americans have died (the fact that we keep no official record on the number of Iraqis killed is scandalous.)

    There have been 2,600 coalition deaths, 2,391 Americans, two Australians, 104 Britons, 13 Bulgarians, three Danes, two Dutch, two Estonians, one Fijian, one Hungarian, 26 Italians, one Kazakh, one Latvian, 17 Poles, two Salvadoran, three Slovaks, 11 Spaniards, two Thai and 18 Ukrainians in the war in Iraq as of April 25, 2006, according to a CNN count.

    Publishing images of the dead reminds us that what we are doing involves deeper sacrifice than the cost of gas at the pump.

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