I think I finally found a theme for this week’s summation. But before I commence with the antics, I’m just going to report my progress. I’m experimenting, playing around with, a rather aggressive writing schedule, as much as I can conceivably manage in a day before my mind reverts entirely to factory settings as a self-defense mechanism. I’m setting a brisk pace, getting a lot of work done, but I repeatedly crash and crash and crash. I can’t seem to determine the schedules. Sometimes I can hold out for a week, sometimes longer, without meaningful break, and other times it’s hardly three days. While I could launch into a discussion about my findings, my sense of the whole situation, this nevertheless elucidates the reality I’ve been living. It’s been difficult keeping up with anything else meaningful to me, whether that be Latin, Greek, German, god knows what else–and for god’s sake I abandoned Sanskrit years ago for the sake of career. Don’t ask me my previous aspirations for I can hardly remember them, he lied with a wicked curl upon his pursed lips.
It is better to live alone, there is no companionship with a fool; let a man walk alone, let him commit no sin, with few wishes, like an elephant in the forest
Now I’ve always been a cave-dweller, just keep up with a few friends from college and scattered family, but I admit, I haven’t so much missed the company–just a reason to do something else. God knows I can’t even read for the pleasure as mere mortals as that’s half my job already. I don’t have much in the way of hobbies. My sole pursuit for eight years has been my own improvement, for which I sacrificed everything I conceivably could. I am half this already, would only that I had few wishes. My naivete, my general sense of entitlement, all that common insanity of my youth–sometimes I can’t believe what I was.
Thoughts for the day
It is mindless to imply that there are no conspiracies and that all conspiracy theorists are mad. Seems to me the great success of agitprop. But there are few really great conspiracies, no monstrous dragons to be slain but rather a pit of venomous vipers each nearly as nasty as the last. If it were simply some large conspiracy, you’d just have to kill the ringleaders and the nightmare would be over. But it’s not like that.
There are nightmares our ancestors wrestled, just a century ago, that would perish us all. Glory to our ancestors; shame upon us.
Furthermore, the ancestor cult is dead. Progress, the difficult striving of one man’s working building upon his predecessor, a tower streaming towards the sky, leaves behind mountains of dead. There are more of us dead than alive, but we continue to strive on the soil under which they all rest. Dirt is naught but sand with rotten matter mixed within. We rest our heels upon the mountains of our dead. And when we’re dead, we’ll too be crushed underfoot. But show a little damn respect and do not besmirch the name of your father or your fathers.
I must seem all grim and serious. Next time, I’ll publish a picture of a cute little kitten.