Losing: An Interrogation

INTRLCTR: And you dislike it?

PSajak: Yes.

INTRLCTR: It doesn't feel good?

PSajak: No. Not even for a second.

INTRLCTR: When you take it away?

PSajak: No. I would give it all away. I would give everything away if I could.

INTRLCTR: You're a generous man.

PSajak: I'm not generous. I'm nothing. Everything is contingent, which is as bad as predestination, when you think about it. Absolute and total human freedom, sure, but what does that get you when the world of human thought and action is composed of a nearly infinite series of contact points, each of them subject to pressure from a whole range of different forces at any given moment? Ideological, physical, interpersonal, egotistic, and so on. This is as bad as total anarchy. Absolute freedom, yes, but what does is it come to, is what I'm asking. There's no real decision when you are subject to so many others, and so many other things, that are decided all around you, constantly.

INTRLCTR: But there is salvation on the smallest human scale, right? If only by reconciling with ourselves these forces. Surrender can become a kind of victory, as long we're willing to concede that the battle was lost before we ever had a chance.

PSajak: Typical bourgeois attitude. We never had a chance, so why be sore about it? Fuck you. You don't know the shit I've seen, the loss I've witnessed. The human soul sifting through the sieve of a body too caught up in the vacillations of chance to notice its own depletion.

INTRLCTR: That was very poetic.

PSajak: You don't know the shit I've seen.

INTRLCTR: Well, you are syndicated.

PSajak: The syndicate ...

Through a Gnarls, Barkley

Now is the time to put away childish things.

Except for this blog.

Grad school's started - as close to the literal vise-on-the-brain as I'll get without actually putting my brain in a vise. It's not so much the readings, or the classes, but the pressure of the ether, the intoxicating smell of work clouding the hallways (in which I always get lost - my school is labyrinthine).

I find that William James, who suffered bouts of anxiety and a couple of nervous breakdowns, is an incredibly appropriate first reading.

Aesthetics, thanks for making the world.

LOGOSrhetoricPARALYSISvomit

There is no better way to say this, so I will just say it the way it was told to me.

Last night, I paid for my coffee with some stray jacks, a ball of twine, and a jar of nails, when it struck me all at once that this was in fact the utopia I had been looking for since leaving home some five years earlier. The economic castration and ill-painted dormitory replica furniture - it's milk crate sheen lusted over by fawning middle-weight girlfight horsetrainers - these were the revisions and plasterings-on-walls for which we had paid with several spare organs. It landed me in the stocks in Town Square and I came away with tomato on my face and a heavy load in my genes. That night we paid with some cartoon bits of barter - yeah, and IT WAS ALL..............RIGHT MAN!!!! Thanks, capitalism - your essentially sunny outlook has taught me this: while we're all chained to the shitting post, at least we can sell our neighbor's own fetters back to him for a 40% profit!

AU REVOIR, you fucking coffee guy!!!!!!!!!





andafteralliwasastillbirthnotbadforadamnedspoteh?