morning bike ride [X]
breakfast aka leftover inca mama’s [X]
reruns of how i met your mother and the office [X]
go to the library and start my midterm paper that’s due tuesday that i’ve been procrastinating on for the past month [ ]
well, looks like the rest of the day is going to be a drag.
what happens when anyone tries to start a debate on the internet.
Gabe: Andy, do you like being alone with me right now?
Andy: No, this is horrifying.❞
purchased two new books after going to inca mama’s tonight!
the first is the thousand autumns of jacob de zoet david mitchell (who is one of my favorite authors of ALL time) and the second is isaac asimov’s the foundation
I can’t wait until the quarter is over to start reading these two. WOOO!
Beach Comber - Real Estate
In his recent disavowal of literary criticism in Lingua Franca, Frank Lentricchia confesses that his “silent encounters with literature are ravishingly pleasurable, like erotic transport.” My experiences with Theory were equally exalted — delivering me into a paroxysm of overdetermined signs. In the blurry vertigo of those pages so full of incomprehensible printed matter I felt myself in the presence of a God: the God of complex questions, the God of language’s mysteries, the God of meaning severed from the painful and demanding particularity of experience. In abstractions, I found absolution from a world in which I was utterly unprepared for any real responsibility or sacrifice. By surrendering myself to Theory, “reality” became a blank screen upon which I projected my political fantasies. My feelings of responsibility to a world that I had once recognized as both unjust and astoundingly concrete, slowly and painlessly seeped out of me until all that remained was the “consciousness” of the “complexity” of any “serious issue.” I didn’t need to fix anything, utterance was all, and all I needed were the words — long and tentacled enough to entrap meaning for a slippery, textual moment.