Uncategorized

play//Work-

7.15.17-sm

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When the infant first sees itself in the mirror, it is adopting a false reality of itself as who it is.

I as a baby, look into the mirror, and instead of seeing how I feel behind the eyes, as swirling black chaos of untransferable thought, instead of how I am, I see a put together face, I see smiling, happily, googly coogling, giggling bah-bah-bawbling soapy snotty self back.

I see myself as a better form of who I am.

……·؎

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.I

Aight,
I need a break to catch up on theory if I’m going to argue anything.
& I gotta make some scratch too.

‘t.

Standard
Uncategorized

-laz / Notes.

I seldom feel myself anymore; was that it?
It seems intermittent I share my own flesh, like Kazak.
Rare but reproducible.

S. Nat.? Hyperbolic no?
Begets targets.

;

I feel most myself when I’ve got something kickin’ round the head, but I ain’t been in school so long I feel I’ve lost my powers/prowess. But sometimes the engine stars.

For example, my last paper (jeezy petes that was in the fall..) my last paper was a critical narrative of my choosing, and as this was at the graduate level, everyone else was neck deep in at least one other lit study course.

I didn’t have a direction. I could have done Myth, since I was taking it at the time too, but it was a freshman level course and would have had me exerting extra effort for no gain. So I thought, what do I want to burn out on?

I didn’t do Joyce for the reason that I was nowhere near prepared to wade back into the labyrinth of critical research that has been done on that fool in the past century; not having it.

So who better than old buddy Vonnegut?
What a whopper of a semester it had been: tryst, trip, and gone…

So I turned my attention there, and set the full focus of research to whatever the fuck postmodernism was supposed to mean, and only now while walking out to get the mail does my semester of theory slowly wrap itself around something.

So here are notes to future me:

Lacan:
Mirror stage as formative, P.VIII
“But the important point is that this form situates the agency of the ego, before its social determination, in a fictional direction, which will always remain irreducible for the individual alone, or rather, which will only rejoin the coming-into-being (le devenir) of the subject asymptomatically,….”
-from there I’ve gone lost.
wasn’t this the paragraph situating the “ego” the “psyche,” “the acting ‘human’ within the skin,” the mind  behind the words – the man behind the words trying to self insert himself into literature?
-search for video source of this thought;

cf.
P.VI
“We have only to understand the mirror stage as an identification,
-hold. the stage/event at which an infant catches first glimpse of itself and understands the image staring back to be him/her/itself. The significance of this moment (so it goes) is that the infant sees itself in the reflection, but sees a false reality of itself; the infant sees an infant, who it takes to be itself, but that is smiling, cooing, dawdling happily alongnot the walking hobbling barely held together bag of nerves struggling to get itself from Point A to Point B. What the baby sees (what I think we were meant to see as a simulacra of ourselves: the false re- and overwritten version of reality; the map of the land itself.

A child creates for itself in this moment a falseness of itself to cling to.

What is literature, but trying to insert the falseness of ourselves into history;
what is good literature, but those that really, truly, awfully did.

…..·؎

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Standard
Uncategorized

The Dishes

Not seldom, not rarely. It feels a word of such infrequency I need to find a strange latin cousin to it first; tan sin seguido starts ringing around but I haven’t had the spare moment to go rooting in my dictionary for it.

On a related note, I started doing my GRE vocabulary practice.

;

I’m alive in my father’s kitchen space; do I need to ask you how you use yours?

.

.

.

.

.

.

I’m making coffee and doing dishes and it’s a thing I can vibe to: moment I can dance in.

I’m so antithetical to the entire club scene; I have lodged in me a “no-fun” complex.

;

There’s plenty of smaller demons in us all
to keep us humble.

.

alright, really oughta work some time.
….·25.

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Kenya AA
Reports of Caramelized Nectarine, Brown Sugar, Juicy

/

It’s a very burnt form of caramel. & its not juicy, heavy cloud of bitter chokes the end;
but it has a small river of The Truth running through it.

‘You’ve over extracting it.’
-oh.
‘There’s too much contact between the coffee and the water. You need to grind it coarser.’
-So less Surface Area. Half turn clockwise or counter?
‘Counter.’
-Sinister

Standard
Uncategorized

Low Earth Orbit.

It never much feels I’m back; false confidence is a weary thing.

I’d sit and waste this stimulant here with you,
…..but I oughta work.

Besides, have you read the news lately?
Oh thank you darling, Sweet United-

7.11.17

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

.

 

.

.

.

.

Now I can get some sleep.

Standard

17

Uncategorized
Image
Uncategorized

Bachelor to None

She’s gone to sleep, I think. But if I’m typing in the forest, does anybody hear me?

Hmmm.

♫♪

Do you know what my shadow was?
I wish I could do it justice. I wish I could write it as fearful as I felt it.

On the way to memphis, under the same influences; driving 9 hours into the dead of night, with a 70mg load of thc slowly streaming to your belly; now here watching her sleep in the same state of mind.

What was my shadow?

It was ignorance.

.

.

.

.

.

But what of it?
What a useless word.
Ignorance.

.

It was ignorance under a thousand other names.

It was the jaws of ignorance, cartoony like in their sheer viciousness, black and white sharp acute angles strewn into each other;

The jaws of life, the literal Jaws of Death.
It was ignorance, Satan by another name,
Chaos by another.

It was the combined fears of all my ancestral generations.

.

.

.

.

It was moses talking to the burning bush
about how Adam’s wife cheated on him.

;

It was patriarch’s bitching;

.

It was the unspeakable formless void of thought;
it was pure Chaos.

It was endless waves of signifieds
held back by a single signifier.

It was Trump.

;

What did I see on the Memphis?
A shard from the death of us all.

Standard