Philosophy, politics, entertainment. Art, music, poetry, science. Macrocosm, microcosm.
And, God's truth, I understand not a word or a particle of what I've just written. "Power"? "The pleasure of pleasing"? "Endorphins"? "Pain as Pleasure"?--Well, maybe. But helplessness? Tedious discomfort? Humiliation? What the hell?! Who are the monsters so constituted as to find any of the foregoing interesting, much less exciting? And "power"--What-ever the fuck does it mean?
posted by anatole at
4:35 AM
I burn hot. I tend to exhaust people in conversation, like Margaret Fuller did Carlyle. Which leaves me (but apparently not Margaret) always wishing I'd shut up sooner. I have quite a few friends and not many enemies, but I'm very proud of the few I do have. There is consensus among my friends about me, which is how I know to write about myself. What my enemies think of me I have no idea. That, of course, could be dangerous. The list of interests and favorites is absurdly partial and half-assed, particularly as to music and books. It's the stupid format of the blog itself, as given, that, of course, I color outside the lines and burst the seams of.
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