On neglegence.
Airports are a funny thing.
There is this drive, this desolate, consumer-oriented upper middle class drive of travel and expansionism that add to the detached loveability of it all. The same rush achieved in big cities, expansive wilderness, and flourescently lighted hotel hallways.
Sitting in on "Art, Archetype and Productive Spectatorship" renewed my diminishing interest in photography, but moreso from a theoretical standpoint. The thought process of Time (capital T) and all of its facets got me excited for the secluded (err, moreso insulated) elitism (see above paragraph) that a post-secondary education offers. Frivolous notions such as 'art history' become paramount!
But it also makes me want to spit on me. What I can't do that! Spit on me, I'll show ya'!
Klasky-Csupo offers me solace and wonder. I thank you for that. Nostalgia still reigns king in my search to escape this adolescence. But it is this very search that keeps me in it, no?
"What does adolescence mean?"
What a thought. Do outsiders have such a large stake? What about institutions that exist only because we think them to?
I could diatribe further (hiya noun), but wallowing calls (in popsicle syrup melted by a mid-summer nineties dream sun).
Why does my body dictate so much? Or does it? What is pleasure?
I finally got an invite to Karagarga. I really do not want to fuck this up.
If anyone is interested in aiding my metaphorical masturbation of a send-off from the suburbs, I have interest in grinning teeth to others teeth. I think? Perhaps such a wave is better fostered in others bated's? Time (in this case both lower and upper-case) is a factor. Can someone clue me in on the equation?
With respect,
A boy (boys ask questions, men shrug [boys make generalizations])
There is this drive, this desolate, consumer-oriented upper middle class drive of travel and expansionism that add to the detached loveability of it all. The same rush achieved in big cities, expansive wilderness, and flourescently lighted hotel hallways.
Sitting in on "Art, Archetype and Productive Spectatorship" renewed my diminishing interest in photography, but moreso from a theoretical standpoint. The thought process of Time (capital T) and all of its facets got me excited for the secluded (err, moreso insulated) elitism (see above paragraph) that a post-secondary education offers. Frivolous notions such as 'art history' become paramount!
But it also makes me want to spit on me. What I can't do that! Spit on me, I'll show ya'!
Klasky-Csupo offers me solace and wonder. I thank you for that. Nostalgia still reigns king in my search to escape this adolescence. But it is this very search that keeps me in it, no?
"What does adolescence mean?"
What a thought. Do outsiders have such a large stake? What about institutions that exist only because we think them to?
I could diatribe further (hiya noun), but wallowing calls (in popsicle syrup melted by a mid-summer nineties dream sun).
Why does my body dictate so much? Or does it? What is pleasure?
I finally got an invite to Karagarga. I really do not want to fuck this up.
If anyone is interested in aiding my metaphorical masturbation of a send-off from the suburbs, I have interest in grinning teeth to others teeth. I think? Perhaps such a wave is better fostered in others bated's? Time (in this case both lower and upper-case) is a factor. Can someone clue me in on the equation?
With respect,
A boy (boys ask questions, men shrug [boys make generalizations])