Slide #1

america, college, Life, philadelphia, study

Hi,

I am currently struggling to put an entire semester’s worth of reading (10 books, 20+papers, and an infinite number of articles) in a 10 slide presentation. All I have for now is  the introductory slide (in Gray Scale: because meh) with my name on it. Fuck.

We conjured up visions of utopia in our heads, only to find ourselves incapable of realizing it. Then, we built the machines.

As I scramble to make a coherent presentation during what has been a truly terrible week, I am struck by my inadequacies. Not with words, or thoughts. Those I have plenty of, but they aren’t half as disconcerting. This is  a far deeper shortcoming I have managed to live with long enough to have  forgotten about. Today seemed like a good day for it to emerge though; on the edge of a long stressful semester, dancing around my thoughts, inserting itself in all that I see, hear, feel, and most importantly, think.

Then they dreamed some more.

And as I stare at this blank slide, I think of every single person I have read about. Their work I read, consumed, and admired. Sometimes it was shit. But still. People who wrote about all that they were passionate about, all that made them tick, all that fed their desire to live, to wake up and accept the drudgery of life as a small price to manifest their truest passions in words. This could be for multiple reasons; knowledge, general altruism,  fame, or even tenure. But I wont begrudge anyone their motivations, nor would I extol them more  than necessary.

One must at least dream to have faith

I say this because I have always imagined that one day I would write  in a fashion. The sort which flows, within the realm of writing logic and understanding, but a flow unfettered. The thought itself is more pleasing than anything else I can think of. Even as I constructed these elaborate dreams, they were explained as a future certainty, woven together with a promise of a more accomplished me, contributing, participating, and building; if not in form, in flow.

But I see it now, a jolting reminder  hitting me right in the face. What I lack is faith. A term I have always derided, if not ignored entirely. This is not faith of religious kind that I refer to. Or I could be. I dont really know anymore. How would I ever write something of value if I don’t repose myself within any meaningful understanding of the world? What would it be worth if I reject the magic or the logic from whence comes that which I write? Even as I try to write this concluding section, I find myself restricted by my own thoughts and uncertainty about what I really wish to communicate. Well that, and the blank slide. But suffice to say, I feel a deep sense of unease both from the source of the unease, and my inability to put it to words.

So I shall end here.

From faith stems feelings, from feelings stems conviction, and from conviction, fortitude

 

Si

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To K

america, college, philadelphia

I am sitting here as well. It’s bright and the wind is far less murderous than usual. Circles don’t exist here since everything is bathed in the sun. Except perhaps, the jagged contours of the shadows, which punctuate this beautiful landscape.
This feeling of being crisped by the sun is quite new. And nice.

We should read a book together sometime.

S

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Enterlude

america, city, college, philadelphia

Today, I submitted my first half finished assignment. Why?  Because I am coming to terms with how acutely limited my aptitude with numbers is. Extremely limited.  I can’t do numbers. I really want to, but I can’t.

And now I sit in a lecture, watching spectacular visions  of post-human architecture in the dark landscape that is the future smart city. It’s beautiful, in a sad, depressing, inevitable sort of way.

Did I mention I am having bourbon from a flask?  In my defense,  I had forgotten I put it there.

I feel like writing a novel.

I have the feels, not the words.

Si

Not so springy Spring

alone, america, college, Friends, philadelphia, walk

Yes, I am late. Yes,  I had 19 post ideas, all of which are now forever lost in the bottomless pit of my memory. They may resurface someday,  and I may write a version of it, but it won’t be the same. So loss is a loss is a lost loss.

For now,  I am going home. Walking home at an odd time makes everything seem weird. The familiar scenes are missing : no deserted sidewalks, no night-piercing harsh brightness of police lights, no national flags furiously fluttering in the evening wind and invoking unsettling and atavistic feelings of belonging (or otherwise), no drunks asking for change. All that, and you have to squint while walking, for the sun shines bright and proud these days. And for most people it seems to be a joyous occasion. Clothes come off, running shorts are worn, children, dogs,  and strollers are procured, and lawns occupied. Love assumes a pathogenic quality as it spreads across the populace, consuming everyone in its way, making them susceptible to warm display of affection and general friendliness.

So why am I going home?  Because fuck this. There are far too many happy people in love on campus. And I think I’d rather be alone now. Well, not like I have much of a choice in that anyway.

I never liked the sun much anyway.

Si

P.s. I assembled my own computer a few weeks ago. Like most things in life, events rushed in the opposite direction of what was planned, and I had more than one urge to kick my monitor screen. But I am pleased to report that HAL-zero is up and running, and makes for fantastic company.

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Must get a pc table soon though.