From south of West Egg:


Let me tell you I'm sick and tired of this sick and tired shit. It's the embodiment of the summer. My life in abeyance.


And what kills me is when I get my enthusiam back for one brief, shining moment:

Godel, Escher, Bach. What a book! At long last the conciliance I picked up from Mr Stephen Jay Gould can finally be put into practice. So I read the first chapter and of course it was a dream come true. Then some sort of lethargic wash hit me at the first chapter break. I remembered that my pleasure was workaholism.


I learned one thing this summer: I need forty hours of work per week. And real work, not drinking beer or even blogging. Which is why I could never be a writer --> if I considered it work, it'd never be good! At least this way I can be spontaneous.


Ring me up a check.
Post a forty label on my forehead, and call it art.

An Attempt at Self-Criticism

...in the words of Nietzsche.

Seriously, Brian told me he read my blog, which of course took him ten minutes, and said that while it was "fine" it was virtually nothing. I have to update it a few times a week! I can make having a blog my style. So Brian what should I write about? -Your thoughts. -What if I have none? -Make them up. -But I want to write well. -Practice.

Look, let's review what the purpose of this rambling really is. First of all, since my audience is so limited, I can't put my thoughts down every time, because all my friends will have already heard them. No, there has to be a higher purpose. At first I thought that one could be to write out thoughts which are too complicated to articulate in conversation. That is a noble goal (heh.... noble...), but I can't say I have too many of those.

I've been reading Ken's blog (feel free to ask me who Ken is) (or anyone, really), which he had dropped for a number of months, but recently started adding entries to every other day. He said:

It's time to get this going again, anyway. For a couple of reasons. One, is that the only way I know how to be funny is by self-deprecation, and I'm getting a little full of myself. I need to get back in the habit of self-analysis so I can get rid of the idea that I'm doing pretty well. I don't believe anything good ever came from being content. Also, due to various circumstances I'm going to be moving out of my apartment in the next couple of months. Which, of course, means new apartment adventures, which is what this space is all about. Yeah!

In reverse order, let me tell you that no new apartments are on the way, so damn. I agree that very little good comes out of being content, but then sometimes I take it a little too far. Ken is a very smart guy, but his theories are like mine: too catholic when expressed in words (please, look up "catholic" in the dictionary, don't just let it slide by). They work well in my head though, and supposedly in his too.

As for self-deprecation, let me tell you: I definitely throw it in the blog. But unlike Ken, I'm not funny, I more starkly depressing. Look at that last sentence, for charity's sake! I'm not afraid of admitting anything I think. What I am afraid of is realizing that avowing my own nature does not make it better. It actually leaves me with no options on how to improve--- as in, okay, I admitted it, I'm an asshole, what do I do now??