no more here. back to the old xanger: www.xanga.com/sklddy

The feminists have it wrong all the time and everyone knows it because they're so ugly--not them necessarily, but the entire ethos, something so unappealing about it all, and there is a certain genius in aesthetics (or some say genius is aesthetics, the beautiful defines the good, though i think that's highly suspect). Ok--here's one place where they (the feminists) got it wrong: god IS essentially male, because his love is not unconditional but whollly conditional on how well one adapts--adapts to rules he has created, how well you play a game whose rules he has set, how well you are his child. I mean this in the basic survival sense. But that is the merely adaptive. Is it me or is the cerebral cortex the prodigal son, the only one out there--born and raised to be adaptive and yet, and yet can be, and is so often, turned towards say, destruction, turned against ones maker and all those laws. Set a forest fire not for timber but for fun. Everyone knows there's much that's appealing about destruction but nobody seems to know why. Some folks swear by it.
That last sentence was false, a contrived afterthought, but i wonder if you can even notice. How much can be gotten away with. This kind of pettiness, this stealing--maybe there's nobility in that too. Intellectual arbitrage, a balancing of scales when no one is looking. A city kid over the frozen river late at night, automatically almost frantically shuffles toward the light at the middle of the bridge; she recognizes this, is disgusted, and sticks with the dark river all around, tries to climb above her fear, that most basic fear.
I can even almost put a date on it: I was twenty and in the big attic there was a big window which on that day looked out into a black windy rainy night and blahblahblah was talking about his internship at cocksuckermotherfucker investment bank and I snapped and said i'm never getting a job, which may or may not have been a lie, but that's pretty much the point....2 roads diverge at rock bottom, where all assumptions have finally been so assiduously un-assumed. one road is a scrambling (to liiive godamn it) and another is a relaxing and floating (because knowledge of the_best_life comes from beyond), but oh no not if what's beyond has in fact looong forsaken you with all your gray matter. all of this is metaphor, of course...because i'm an atheist.

THE CHRONIC CONDITION:

Saturday, June 05, 2004

mm. Everything: getting into Twain, into Stuy, Dart, all those SAT's, my fucking IQ--all the things that place me at the tippity top of the population, the things the scream that, shmuck, if you'd only focus your energies you'd be a smashing success --have been falling on my deaf ears for a long time, because...ohhh, but what's success. All my life I've been motivated by the fear of mediocrity. But yet, at this point everything I'm supposed to be aiming at seems mediocre--what? top grad schools, high GPA. I've always hated school and why am I wrong for that? Picasso spent the time he did go to school staring at the clock (sounds familiar), Einstien took every opportunity to skip class, Fitzgerald all but flunked out of Princeton, Bill gates flunked out fo Harvard, Thelonious Monk flunked out of Stuyvesant. I could go on for ages. Everything I value and respect at this point has nothing to do with the big four-oh, or Harvard law. But that's exactly what I have to aim for if I'm as talentless as I might be. Awww, I'm tearing myself apart. Back to studying....calm, syncronized movements.

- "You're too distracted"
- "No, not distracted, abstracted"
________

HAHAHA. I could topple over laughing. To finally live with purpose because the usual things are no longer demanded of me. To slip away from under the glare of so many anemic entrenched disapproving--clueless--faces to a real differentiation and ripening in the wilderness outside of all things formerly known. My highest short term ambition is to find work on a boat, and complete a manuscript. Ok, that's all.