I bought all eight volumes of Proust (Remembrance of Things Past) today. A new adventure…
Some days, I am amoral and antisocial and I frighten myself, like I might be dangerous, but I won’t realize it until a moment too late… And then, I wonder if I will ever be normal again, or if such a suddenly transparent moment marks a new epoch for me which ends with death or prison or…
And then, the next day I wake up, shave, shower, etc… Like always.
§ As you get older, the ghosts become more real than anything else.
§ Under the leaves, soil. Under the soil, stone. Under the stone, souls.
§ Radically empowering individuals in society may be the worst mistake we ever made.
§ Want to be a radical? Refuse to suffer. Then, wait for the assault.
§ Goodbye 2017, part two. (The real part.)
§ Sometimes you find home where you’ve never been—and you dwell where you aren’t.
§ The self can’t play Atlas for postmodernity because science is now supernatural.
§ Rehab is universal. So is history.
§ Identity, transcendence, and tactics.
§ Untitled. (a.k.a. Pretty faces, new old photos.)