they want to socialize you, they want to purify you, they want to dignify, analyze, and terrorize
Yesterday I finished The Use and Abuse of Literature. Today I finished Why Marx Was Right. Will I finish another book tomorrow? It is possible. I am currently reading 4 other books, only one of which is terribly long and doesn't show any possibility of being finished tomorrow.
Though none of the books I've read have been terribly long (the longest was only a little over 400 pages, most of the other books were under 300), I have read quite a few books so far this year, especially for me. I believe the total is at 18.
I've never been too good about keeping track of the books I read, but I did find a few records of such book reading. I found a list from 2008 that indicates I only completed 2 books that year --and one was a book I was re-reading (I first read it in 2006). On the subject of book reading, I recall that in the summer of 2004 I read well over 2,000 pages. I came home with a back of just books that weighed over 100 pounds.
Reading tends to do quite a few things to me. It makes me feel alienated and it makes me feel like I'm full of pent up energy, usually sexual energy. I've noticed that when I read more, consequently, I do tend to be more anti-social and masturbate a lot more. I feel removed from reality, as if I didn't have that problem (or enough other problems) to begin with.
This is all problematic because, as anyone who has been reading this journal for, I dunno, the last month or so, knows that nearly every day I update with some lengthy prose about alienation and how this summer is so pivotal. You know, the "big, important" things of life.
I don't know how this entry could be any different. I didn't intend it to be, either. I just wanted to write about my alienation and my summer in exile as being related to other forms of art, not just music.
But alas, what I learned from reading those two books is that not only is literature hardly read --and even when it is, it is highly abused -- but also that I don't know much about Marxism.
I've read more fiction this year than I have in years past, too. Murakami and McMurtry especially. I honestly don't remember much of what I've read. I do, however, recall that I had attempted to devise some sort of list of "monthly reading themes." I abandoned that idea mid-way through January.
I wish that I could express what I've learned, or haven't learned. I miss the days when I could count on at least 20 other people being familiar with the text, if only in the context of having it as assigned reading for whatever course we were taking.
I'm just slowly coming to grips with several facts. Just now, I tried writing those facts in the form of "I'll never accomplish [x, y, or z]." It felt terribly defeatist, but perhaps not entirely wrong.
The entire sweep of life is going through my mind. I keep reflecting on all these similar, past moments where I've faced these feelings. I'm confronted with the cyclical nature of history, and trying to figure out my own theories. Am I doomed to repeat this cycle? Is there anything else?
In 2003, when I seemingly threw everything away with a botched suicide attempt, I still had high school to worry about finishing. And I did.
In 2005, when I had finished my first year of college and I had severed ties with a very important friend, I still had my girlfriend and college to worry about it. And I did.
In 2007, when I broken up with said girlfriend, I still had college to worry about and to finish. And I did.
In 2009, when I had let depression and alcoholism get the better of me --and nearly caused me to be without school, a future, or anything --I pulled up my bootstraps up. I found ways to stay in school and to regain a sense of future. And I did.
In 2011, when I started drinking again, when I had my falling out more friends, I thought things were over. I stopped drinking, and basically self-imploded, socially. I'm still working on recovering from that. And I...?
What can be learned from this short little history lesson on my life? Well, aside from the fact that nothing in my life seems to last for more than 2 years. Aside from the fact that I seemingly lurch from crisis to crisis. I don't know.
Something tells me that school will not be the magical panacea I want it to be. Also, as things stand, I don't see myself being rehabilitated socially. I have, more or less, cut off all those ties for the foreseeable future. Thus, when the rift happened this time around, I have no other, local friends to help me pick up the pieces. I have some friends online, that is true. I don't mean to marginalize you, but I'm afraid I may have done so without much thinking. I'm prone to actions without thoughts.
And, as I've also been mentioning, this time around I am older. I have finished high school and graduated from college and yet, yet I am still plagued by very many of the same problems. I'm still trying to find some way to make things work.
And then, as I write this, I just worry that I'm typing the same entry I did yesterday...and even if I'm not, I'm even more worried that I'm just a victim of the problems of my time...I don't know. But, I get it.
Though none of the books I've read have been terribly long (the longest was only a little over 400 pages, most of the other books were under 300), I have read quite a few books so far this year, especially for me. I believe the total is at 18.
I've never been too good about keeping track of the books I read, but I did find a few records of such book reading. I found a list from 2008 that indicates I only completed 2 books that year --and one was a book I was re-reading (I first read it in 2006). On the subject of book reading, I recall that in the summer of 2004 I read well over 2,000 pages. I came home with a back of just books that weighed over 100 pounds.
Reading tends to do quite a few things to me. It makes me feel alienated and it makes me feel like I'm full of pent up energy, usually sexual energy. I've noticed that when I read more, consequently, I do tend to be more anti-social and masturbate a lot more. I feel removed from reality, as if I didn't have that problem (or enough other problems) to begin with.
This is all problematic because, as anyone who has been reading this journal for, I dunno, the last month or so, knows that nearly every day I update with some lengthy prose about alienation and how this summer is so pivotal. You know, the "big, important" things of life.
I don't know how this entry could be any different. I didn't intend it to be, either. I just wanted to write about my alienation and my summer in exile as being related to other forms of art, not just music.
But alas, what I learned from reading those two books is that not only is literature hardly read --and even when it is, it is highly abused -- but also that I don't know much about Marxism.
I've read more fiction this year than I have in years past, too. Murakami and McMurtry especially. I honestly don't remember much of what I've read. I do, however, recall that I had attempted to devise some sort of list of "monthly reading themes." I abandoned that idea mid-way through January.
I wish that I could express what I've learned, or haven't learned. I miss the days when I could count on at least 20 other people being familiar with the text, if only in the context of having it as assigned reading for whatever course we were taking.
I'm just slowly coming to grips with several facts. Just now, I tried writing those facts in the form of "I'll never accomplish [x, y, or z]." It felt terribly defeatist, but perhaps not entirely wrong.
The entire sweep of life is going through my mind. I keep reflecting on all these similar, past moments where I've faced these feelings. I'm confronted with the cyclical nature of history, and trying to figure out my own theories. Am I doomed to repeat this cycle? Is there anything else?
In 2003, when I seemingly threw everything away with a botched suicide attempt, I still had high school to worry about finishing. And I did.
In 2005, when I had finished my first year of college and I had severed ties with a very important friend, I still had my girlfriend and college to worry about it. And I did.
In 2007, when I broken up with said girlfriend, I still had college to worry about and to finish. And I did.
In 2009, when I had let depression and alcoholism get the better of me --and nearly caused me to be without school, a future, or anything --I pulled up my bootstraps up. I found ways to stay in school and to regain a sense of future. And I did.
In 2011, when I started drinking again, when I had my falling out more friends, I thought things were over. I stopped drinking, and basically self-imploded, socially. I'm still working on recovering from that. And I...?
What can be learned from this short little history lesson on my life? Well, aside from the fact that nothing in my life seems to last for more than 2 years. Aside from the fact that I seemingly lurch from crisis to crisis. I don't know.
Something tells me that school will not be the magical panacea I want it to be. Also, as things stand, I don't see myself being rehabilitated socially. I have, more or less, cut off all those ties for the foreseeable future. Thus, when the rift happened this time around, I have no other, local friends to help me pick up the pieces. I have some friends online, that is true. I don't mean to marginalize you, but I'm afraid I may have done so without much thinking. I'm prone to actions without thoughts.
And, as I've also been mentioning, this time around I am older. I have finished high school and graduated from college and yet, yet I am still plagued by very many of the same problems. I'm still trying to find some way to make things work.
And then, as I write this, I just worry that I'm typing the same entry I did yesterday...and even if I'm not, I'm even more worried that I'm just a victim of the problems of my time...I don't know. But, I get it.