helix fever
Slow’s been the holidays. Food, overeating, family, clothing, maintenance. December isn’t a bad month for maintenance.
I look at the story I’m writing—Solip—and I’m confused and full of faith. Kierkegaard and Wittgenstein talk about the inextricability of faith and confusion.(?) Søren said this:
But the absurd is a category, and a category that can have a restraining influence. When I believe, then assuredly neither faith nor the content of faith is absurd. Oh, no, no—but I understand very well that for the person who does not believe, faith and the content of faith are absurd, and I also understand that as soon as I myself am not in the faith, am weak, when doubt perhaps begins to stir, then faith and the content of faith gradually begin to become absurd for me.
Take that, add Camus on Sisyphus, Sartre’s Existentialism is a Humanism, Ludwig on facts and language games but mostly on the mystic, Vonnegut after a pack of Reds, Joyce singing and Wallace loving, add ice. Blend.
I want to build a car.
I spoke to Zach Dodson tonight for 56 minutes, on the phone. We talked about books. We spoke about secret stuff (not so secret now, is it?; like a known unknown).
Feel like the videogame industry has been stagnant lately. Slicker versions of safe models, etc.
Reconcile your liberal guilt and eco-friendliness with pleasure driving, chump.
Making myself deaf. Blame hip hop.
Big story writing zone, novel or movie, is my championed.
Blake said this: unwavering maturity is immature
That said, to play favorites: Mark Leidner makes me believe. Mark and Blake and December. A month of mathematics.
