(no subject)
You know there's a serious problem with the book you're analyzing for senior seminar when it first of all defines the problem you have with your writing in a few short sentences - "Zampano was, in essence - to use another big word - a graphomaniac. He scribbled until he died and while he came close a few times, he never finished anything, especially the work he would unabashedly describe as either his masterpiece or his precious darling.
Or his downfall.
"His mind never ceased branching out into new territories. The woman who saw him for the last time, remarked that "whatever it was he could never quite address in himself prevented him from ever settling. Death finally saw to that."
With a little luck, you'll dismiss this labor, react as Zampano had hoped, call it needlessly complicated, pointlessly obtuse, prolix-your word-ridiculously conceived, and you'll believe all you've said, and then you'll put it aside-though even here, in that one word, "aside", makes me shudder, for what is ever really just put aside?-and you'll carry on, eat, drink, be merry and most of all you'll sleep well.
Then again, there's a good chance you won't.
This much I'm certain of: it doesn't happen immediately. You'll finish and that will be that, until a moment will come, maybe in a month, maybe in a year, maybe even several years. You'll be sick or feeling trouble d or deeply in love or quietly uncertain or even content for the first time in your life. It won't matter. Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace, you'll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all. F For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how. You'll have forgotten what granted you this awareness in the first place.
Old shelters - television, magazines, movies - won't protect you anymore. You might scribbling in a journal, on a napkin, maybe even in the margins of this book...
Realize that when I read that last sentence, I was notetaking in the margins of the book for my senior thesis.
I almost screamed.
Font in Courier is from House of Leaves, font in Times New Roman are my notes, bold emphasis is mine, not the book's.
In other news, I no longer have a boyfriend. It wasn't a big deal, just a, "this isn't really working is it?" and then nothing. I don't have time for a relationship right now. I don't know if I ever will. I'll talk about it more in depth later, but... things just aren't working. But they're not working for a different reason than before. I am changed. And I'm not sure what into.
Or his downfall.
"His mind never ceased branching out into new territories. The woman who saw him for the last time, remarked that "whatever it was he could never quite address in himself prevented him from ever settling. Death finally saw to that."
With a little luck, you'll dismiss this labor, react as Zampano had hoped, call it needlessly complicated, pointlessly obtuse, prolix-your word-ridiculously conceived, and you'll believe all you've said, and then you'll put it aside-though even here, in that one word, "aside", makes me shudder, for what is ever really just put aside?-and you'll carry on, eat, drink, be merry and most of all you'll sleep well.
Then again, there's a good chance you won't.
This much I'm certain of: it doesn't happen immediately. You'll finish and that will be that, until a moment will come, maybe in a month, maybe in a year, maybe even several years. You'll be sick or feeling trouble d or deeply in love or quietly uncertain or even content for the first time in your life. It won't matter. Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace, you'll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all. F For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how. You'll have forgotten what granted you this awareness in the first place.
Old shelters - television, magazines, movies - won't protect you anymore. You might scribbling in a journal, on a napkin, maybe even in the margins of this book...
Realize that when I read that last sentence, I was notetaking in the margins of the book for my senior thesis.
I almost screamed.
Font in Courier is from House of Leaves, font in Times New Roman are my notes, bold emphasis is mine, not the book's.
In other news, I no longer have a boyfriend. It wasn't a big deal, just a, "this isn't really working is it?" and then nothing. I don't have time for a relationship right now. I don't know if I ever will. I'll talk about it more in depth later, but... things just aren't working. But they're not working for a different reason than before. I am changed. And I'm not sure what into.