Showboating and Alarmism

It's been nearly a week since my last confession. Nothing has changed. I received a visit from my good friend ben recently, and it did help a bit. I spent some time above water, and was able to do a full recharge of the sub.

There was a moment, when we were floating on the lake and enjoying cigarettes at night, when it felt like it was almost summer. After more than a decade of training to feel the seasons and the rhythms of schooling - which even I was party to - that first twinge of summer is about the most envigorating sensation I can think of. Looking back a year is sort of bewildering, and thinking forward a year is perplexing but exciting. Then I ran out of gerunds.

The longest topic of discussion was the idle quest for information that we both share. Neither of us feel isolated in the world, despite our relative un-worldliness (or otherworldliness?) to certain city-folk, mainly because of a certain general philosophy about learning. It might be mostly trivia, but it annexes our studies in music and art and culture to a way that gives the most modern perspective our limited minds can arrive at. Knowing that the proper name for Webster Lake, the Morale's headquarters, is the longest place name in the US somehow feels relevant when studying all of these artsy type things. There is no such thing as artistic truth... just pursuit. I'm sure that's been said before, but not from a submarine.

I never wrote about Borges, and I should've. My favourite story can be found here. The narrator tries to find the source of an encyclopaedia article about a country that doesn't exist, but, in telling the story, references books that don't exist... There is more to the story, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone, not that it matters much. The idea kind of creeps me out, like, it sort of makes me scared to be an Atheist for some reason. It just reeks of death. Apparently the story is supposed to have some political implications. I'm no literary analysis major, nor do I presume I will ever become, but I think Borges is more the natural extension of Camus or Kafka than anything else... I feel the same way about living and accepting my reality when I read him as I do they. Which is to say, I sort of want to die.

Anyway, I realised I know nothing about building web pages, so Sylvia's memorial page may be slowed down a bit. I also starting reading Brothers Karamazov. It's long, and I'm pretty sure I'm missing something, but Fyodr is the biggest asshole in history, even though he has some interesting arguments.

One good thing: I created a purevolume account to post some music. I'll have to make a string of them, because you can only have four songs per account, and the compression will likely suck balls. I need to shop around for a good music site to post. Fuck Myspace, naturally.