Or am I just telling myself I’m okay?
Am I overthinking this?
What does it mean to be okay?
—
Obviously, I need to avoid making blog posts claiming to be okay. The fallout is intolerable. 😛

Or am I just telling myself I’m okay?
Am I overthinking this?
What does it mean to be okay?
—
Obviously, I need to avoid making blog posts claiming to be okay. The fallout is intolerable. 😛
take time to emerge or evolve, and long, hard years of effort to achieve. And they are as narrowly defined and as fleeting as the advertising jingles that sold war bonds during World War II—one change in context and everything you used apply as leverage becomes anachronism rather than fulcrum and pivot.
—
I am sitting alone on the floor against the wall in the New School for Social Research building on Fifth Avenue. People that don’t understand me are mad at me. People that do understand me are few and far between (and far away). And I am okay. I am really quite okay.
One of the things that happens when I am in school—particularly when I am in school and I am also working—is that I become horrible at keeping in contact with everyone. So sorry, everyone, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that time is passing very quickly and I’m only marginally aware of this fact.
—
Now, the state of things. Things are, in a word, stressful. I’m not at all convinced that I have what it takes this time around. I’m beyond rusty. I’ve simply done too much working in the “real world” to feel seamlessly integrated into academics at this point, and my mental state and ways of conceptualizing the world are beginning to gel (I know that everyone makes fun of me when I say things like this, but I really can feel myself getting older, and sense the changes that are happening in my consciousness to make me less flexible, less adaptable, less bright).
I don’t know where my life will take me in coming days, months, and years. I was at one time positive that I’d know if only I could reach this place… well, I’ve reached it and the question seems less answered than before, rather than moreso.
But there’s nothing to be done about it—the tasks at hand are to make sure that I (1) go to work every day, (2) go to school every day, (3) try to keep up with bills, (4) try to keep up with papers, and (5) try to take care of my body and health in some (realistically, subnominal) way.
—
What is it about me that makes me rub people in such a singular way?
Bleh.
§ 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.)