So here I sit on the New School campus once again, in school, as it were. The place is teeming with students, busy as ever, just as it was when I left.
It feels very strange to be here, as though I’m back somewhere I never expected to return. For the second time since returning to New York, I really don’t know what to do with myself. I am at a total loss.
I suppose this is where I’m supposed to be, though, and I assume that if I sit here long enough, it’ll all come back to me…
§ 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.)