Firstly, I am admitting up front and personal--I'm getting dumber by the day. I haven't read a book in ages. I'm mad at myself about this. I am going to the library this weekend and paying off that fine.
A perfect example of the stupidness tumor growing inside my jelly-head is that I can't read The Nation without stopping, going back three or four paragraphs, and starting again. THINGS ARE NOT SINKING IN, and this is all rather debilitating, especially since there ISN'T MUCH UP THERE to begin with.
I'm really mean to strangers. I hate saying hello to folks who smile at me and I cannot stand strollers and the mothers attached to them. I've almost been banned from the local Starbuck's for pissing off people in the drive-thru. Listen up: if you're in a drive thru lane, please pull up as close as possible to the nimwit in front of you. It makes life easier on the rest of us uncaffienated yo-ho's behind you. And don't glare at me when I'm an inch off your bumper. SOME of us know how to drive.
Why was the lady at the Crate and Barrel actually wearing this hairstyle? I think she actually lost her receipt in it.
Kierkegaard (my favorite theologian) talked a lot about the depressed artist...he stated that the artsy fartsy folks are always upset about something because the world isn't nearly as nice as one would hope. So, these artist people go out and attempt to create a better world through different media--painting, acting, writing. They go through periods of depression and then create a work of art in order to self-medicate from the horrid world in which they dwell. Unfortunately (says Kierkegaard), the 'model' of the perfect world sucks, too, so the artist furthers her depression.
My question is: I'm generally cynical but I can't draw my way out of a paper bag. What gives?
Hegel was a philosopher who actually started the dialog about S&M. Funny thing about Hegel (other than his name rhyming with kegel), though, was that he made the Master/Slave paradigm an example of God and followers. Like: how does a Master get a Slave to obey? By giving the Slave cookies; you know, "Follow me into the desert and I'll give you the promised land" kinda thing. I slap my knee every time I hear someone mention something like, "Yeah, I like some freaky stuff. I mean, I'm into being submissive and everything!" In my head, I'm thinking, "Hey! He would make a good Baptist!" Is this wrong? Am I going to Hell?
Actually, I don't believe in Hell. I don't believe in Heaven, either. I just believe in some great, rushing place in the universe where we'll all go and be part of the Collective Whole. The nice thing about this afterlife is that if you fart while being part of The Mysterious Other, no one can blame you. Because there will be no one, and we'll all be everyone else.
Wait, if that means I'm sharing space, time, and other metaphysical things with Paris Hilton, I want a refund. I'll take Hell, thank you very much.
The kitchen needs cleaning. Please excuse me. I'm merely deviating from another senseless chore that will need repeating in two days, thereby teaching me some Buddhist lesson that I cannot yet articulate. I'm going to cull all this over while I go to the bathroom.
