Wednesday, September 5, 2007

being is process

finished the bruce fink finally. i def feel that i understand lacan better now but i guess i also feel like his loopy logic and false dichotomies are even more obvious. which makes him harder for me to write abt seriously. but i guess prelims are for expressing knowledge rather than expressing opinions abt that knowledge. so, we're golden. now i'm starting dominic head's british fiction 1950-2000 or something snorey sounding like that. tevs. at least i'm not confronting someone who thinks human existence is ultimately characterized by lack.

one good thing abt lacan tho is that he seems to get my ideas going, even if they end up being directed against psychoanalytic theory. not that i don't daily struggle with my own mental health. i mean, i'm in grad school in the humanities--where schizophrenia is an encouraged mode of being, the fragmented subject is taken for granted, and reality is typically viewed as a construct even tho we're all still expected to teach and get As and feed ourselves and pay our bills and maintain ethical human relationships. plus, as many times as i've written abt deleuze's BwO, nobody gives a shit when their mom is in intensive care. anyway, i guess i wanna say that i'm happy that i'm not as confused and fucked up and emotionally uncomfortable as i was (not so many years ago) abt never being satisfied, abt always chasing after something i couldn't quite get, more or less consumed by a weird aggression that i still can't really explain right.

argh, i'm sick of school. i wanna make art. i'm tired of being the armchair chick or whatever. i wanna move to spain and write books for a while by the beach. cuz language is not secondary to me, it's totally of-the-body and does not separate me from the world. on the contrary, language is, like, the thing that makes me want to get up in the morning.

let's quit and go to spain.

but we can all bring our boyfriends and our dogs.

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