Yesterday I passed out, without having drunk any alcohol; it was psychologically interesting. One moment, opening the door and feeling queasy, next moment coming to on the floor with no idea where I am.. made me think about what i'm doing right now
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"Writing is purpose, purpose freedom."
my little asode there was a meant only as a notation that writing so wonderfully and essentially as you do in a public forum denies (properly) the depths of eX, and glorifies by the light of the Word in darkness both the path you are walking and, if you are looking for an ism, pure journalism. The word is your Hegelian Other, and in its reflection (as you can tell by how people comment and reflect on your posts) your words are become higher than simple responsibility.
paradox is the only reality; contradiction the only truth: if i see an ism i challenge it. Sorry if it gets annoying.
...and the all the lemmings committing suicide thing is only a slight myth-derivation of the reality. Not all of them die.
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More specifically, he has some awesome ideas, but is a theorist; he makes intricate theories about things which should never be pinned down in any way.
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my copy of the stranger had a drawing in black ink of a shadow on looming approach to the foreground, with a caption that read: "the duck man cometh." Even though i knew what i was reading, the whole time i kept expecting the duckman. It really made it a much better piece.
based on your last sentence, i'm also going to STRONGLY reccomend THE THIRD POLICEMAN by Flann O'brien. Just remember: try not to read the preface
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