Segregating the old and the sick enables a fantasy, as baseless as the fantasy of capitalism’s endless expansion, of youth and health as eternal, in which old age can seem to be an inexplicably bad lifestyle choice, like eating junk food or buying a minivan, that you can avoid if you’re well-educated or hip enough. So that when through absolutely no fault of your own your eyesight begins to blur and you can no longer eat whatever you want without consequence and the hangovers start lasting for days, you feel somehow ripped off, lied to. Aging feels grotesquely unfair. As if there ought to be someone to sue.
— Tim Kreider, You Are Going to Die
Be wrong as fast as you can. Mistakes are an inevitable part of the creative process, so get right down to it and start making them. Even great ideas are wrecked on the road to fruition and then have to be painstakingly reconstructed.
Ideas, in a sense, are overrated. Of course, you need good ones, but at this point in our supersaturated culture, precious few are so novel that nobody else has ever thought of them before. It’s really about where you take the idea, and how committed you are to solving the endless problems that come up in the execution.
Ill tell you all the real problem with all types of gun violence in America, all of it, its ego. Its big swinging dicks. Even the crazies like the batman guy. This is a nation that convinced everyone they are important and convinced most people they are more important. What do you expect?
—“3MTA3” @ YH
Yamazaki stopped. He stood very still, one hand on a wooden railing daubed with hyphens of aerosol silver. Skinner’s story seemed to radiate out, through the thousand things, the unwashed smiles and the smoke of cooking, like concentric rings of sound from some secret bell, pitched too low for the foreign, wishful ear.
We are come not only past the century’s closing, he thought, the millennium’s turning, but to the end of something else. Era? Paradigm? Everywhere, the signs of closure.
Modernity was ending.
Here, on the bridge, it long since had.
He would walk toward Oakland now, feeling for the new thing’s strange heart.
Obsessed with William Gibson even though I’m finding his novels to be a bit formulaic (washed-up protagonists as chess-pieces for rich benefactors). What Gibson does well are his dystopian settings. In Virtual Light, the Bay Bridge between San Francisco and Oakland has been taken over by squatters and turned into an encampment/bazaar. So portentous considering our present construction of the new eastern span and the Occupy Movement of last year.
|AZK:||If you were to watch a documentary about a philosopher – Heidegger, Kant or Hegel, what would you like to see in it?|
|Derrida:||Their sex lives. If you want a quick answer. I would like to hear them speak about their sexual lives. I would like to hear them speak about it. What is the sexual life of Hegel or Heidegger?|
|Derrida:||You want a quick answer, you don’t want justification. Because it’s something they don’t talk about. I’d love to hear about something they refuse to talk about. Why do philosophers present themselves asexually in their work? Why have they erased their private lives from their work? Or never talked about anything personal? There is nothing more important in their private life than love. I’m not talking about making a porno film about Hegel or Heidegger. I want them to speak about the part that love plays in their lives. So you could take a microphone up to Hegel…One knows some things about Hegel or Heidegger already. But not from things they’ve said. I’d like to hear them speak on this.|
Perhaps it needs a child to recognize there is a force pulling into itself every tragic disparity, every dispersion of race and language and religion, every confusion that is India, inspiring in its peoples a feeling larger than patriotism, what they stretch out their arms to stretch. Tagore called it a geography made sacred by devotion. I can’t say what it is, only that when I am away it pulls at me, and I long for the land shaped by longing.
It belonged to time and the salt air and the entropic nature of expensive houses built too close to the sea. Perhaps it was also peculiar to places briefly but frequently uninhabited, houses opened and closed as their restless residents arrived and departed.