No Time

Unlike my partner, I can't get my wireless to work at Pannikin. She has a better antenna. Read that as you will. At any rate, I had dreams of returning messages and replying to comments while here at Starbucks, but I just got summoned, minutes after finally getting logged on, so I suppose that will have to wait. I do have time to put up a photo, but that's it. See you later.

The Sea Is the Sea (And That's Fine With Me)

Delusion of the Day

Browsing the philosophy section at Borders earlier this evening I was overwhelmed by the realization that Kierkegaard is crucial for everything that matters to me. I've had milder attacks previous to this one. Every time I pick him up I get so freaked out by the lack of certainty in his layered presentation that I put the book down with a shudder. But that response is really a cry for help. I can't not have come to terms with his work and be adequately qualified to wax profound about the use of the first-person in theory, now can I? Not to mention that this realization reactivates an earlier one, namely that I need to be an expert on Romanticism, particularly in a Mitteleuropäischer context, in order to comprehend the foundations of punk aesthetics. Since there is approximately zero percent chance of me acquiring expertise on either Kierkegaard or Romanticism in the next year, however, I will have to either A) consign myself to feelings of low self-worth; or B) get over it. Maybe I should try Prozac after all. Or yoga. Or the Atkins Diet. Or a life of reckless hedonism. Anything to send my mind into sleep mode.