Life is really fscking confusing.
蕭
耀
倫
耀
倫
a
r
o
6e
d
g
2 l
p
a
n
r
o
6e
d
g
2 l
p
a
n
N+1 hours, days in the Regenstein library with words swimming in front of me and it is unclear exactly what I have accomplished. Or why I am reading it. It feels like this quarter is just a patience game: wait for deadline crunches and then try to deliver on them; in the meantime, do nothing much that’s going to stick with me, but call it “reading.”
I really want to read Sacher-Masoch again. I also wish it wasn’t winter, I want to hang out with some seagulls.
I am desperate to say something here, but there is nothing to say.
I’m back in the same old position as ever. Shit.
§ 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.)