that was sarcasm in the title.
it really does not work in a context free environment, does it?
i am obsessed with lists. i love handwriting my to-do list on various scraps of paper, and slashing a line through the less than 20% of the things and events i have intentions of completing. i also fall under its paralytic spell, an eager sense of failure in the surety that I will not accomplish much in the rest of my life. failure is then equal to the freedom of inaction, of routine and control, of knowing that sex with myself means that i will always have an orgasm, and i dont have to hold anyone afterwards; as empty and glorious as that sounds.
but as the wise hairy asian man pointed out, i am changing, inexorably, minutely, definitively. this blog is not meant for public consumption, but it does represent the first step in enjoying words and language again.
which brings it back to the list. i want to write about what i read. i worry that i read too quickly, that i absorb enough to get me to the next page, but theres no depth attached to it. i read quickly because i am greedy at the library, that odd intersection of socialist largesse and capitalist fear.
right now, i am struggling to finish Sherlock Holmes Volume II. i was ecstatic to discover new stories, new novels, to compare it to the modern BBC remake, to practice techniques on the subway that have made me aware of how much thought i put into fashion, and how vicious i enjoy being about that :)
i think holmes' recommendation would involve some degree of sexism and a treatise on cocaine.
this is not my thing.
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