Nothing! Well, a lot of stuff, really, which translates into nothing when discussing activity within our great cyberdelusion. But I needed nothing, required the presence of nothing in what little free time I was able to secure. Work has been beyond insane and this fool moon fucked with the whole planet; even the aftereffects have been weapons-grade total lunacy.
Everybody's been on a weird wavelength.
But who cares if FP isn't updating, when internet was so much fun last week, fun like it made me feel young again. What memery! What memefoolery. Thank you, person who made the Area 51 Raid. Go carefully, you are a hero.
That kind of shit is what internet is for, by the way. A bunch of monkeys having stupid fun. If this whole thing isn't a toy, I don't have any real use for it.
*
Apropos of nothing, when I moved to the U.S. for the second time with citizenship as the goal, there was no greater fear in my life than deportation. I was on the cusp of full-blown puberty at the time and George W. Bush was about to assume the mantle of his presidency; for the next eight years, my nervous system equated every single thing that my changing body and teenage brain wanted me to do as a deportation risk.
I was a little tightly wound. Most of my friends were white, born here, and most of those would engage in the kinds of devilry that seems and is perfectly normal for scions of the ruling class, irrespective of how low your strata within that class might be. My presence among them was contingent on my occupation of a very different rung on the societal ladder, but they, being broadminded, generous, and not themselves racists, would expect me to follow along with them. Because my place in the strata of my own rung was so extremely high, and because at the end of the day my English is better than any of theirs, they honestly thought that I was as free and clear as they were, to act how I wanted.
And it's like, dudes. No. I could get deported. It is different for me. We hang out at an intersection, but live in totally different neighborhoods. The same America, but not.
So I insisted on airtight plans and closely thought-out situations, extreme discretion, exit strategies in place at all times, clear sightlines, etc. Got in very little trouble growing up, and my friends were none the worse for the cautions I imposed. They got me to chill out when I needed to; two-way streets and all that. Nevertheless, I have always visibly, even ostentatiously, obeyed the social contract, held down employment, payed my taxes, and minded my own business. No points on my driver's license.
Fact of the matter is, I didn't get citizenship until we were almost through with Barack Obama's first term. And the fact of the matter following that is that I have carried proof of that citizenship on my person every single day ever since, and I'll keep carrying it after whoever gets elected next says everything is cool.
That's how I view the matter, without getting into too many more of the facts.
*
Existence offers only a very limited and select few guarantees. This is a thought that pops into my mind a lot, and has for most of my life. It rings like the truth to me, but no one acts like it, so I cannot be certain.
*
Been so wound up I haven't been reading much, and that not very focused. That's how you know the tides are wild and the rhythms wacky. Gotta push through the last fractions of Philosophical Fragments and Nicholas Nickleby, then what I need to do is just drop everything and read all the Stephen King I can get my hands onto, all the new stuff I haven't read, any old stuff I might have missed, all of it, except The Dark Tower. I can't really stand The Dark Tower. No, I kind of hate it. I like when Roland passes his test with his hawk as a weapon. That shit was incredible. I forced myself through the rest of that awful book and quit a few pages into The Drawing of the Three. No desire to try again. There are, liberally speaking, nine books in The Dark Tower; I have twenty-two other King books in my possession and the ability to get a ton more, so it's not as though this attitude is tremendously limiting. I knew a guy who only read Dark Tower and had no taste for the rest of the feast; now there walks a fellow with the scales tipped against him. But, to each their own.
Anyway, I just want to read Stephen King. Might leaven it with Michael Crichton and Kurt Vonnegut. The three main dudes of me reading books in high school.
Been reading a lot of internet, though, reams of the stuff. Theory. Maybe too much. Maybe even a little was too much, but the rhizomes are firmly embedded and I don't bother fighting the compulsion to expand them. I just know that I'd do better going back to the Presocratics, if I weren't such a lazy fuck.
*
The unreleased album discussed in this post dropped two days ago, though I obtained and listened to it the day after I last posted. The privileges of a swift preorder. Without further ado I lent it out to a coworker I felt should be among the first to hear the record.
A different day, a day with more bandwidth, I will talk about the album. Probably. Who can ever know the future. That shit almost fucking destroyed me.
*
Alright, that'll do. Ate like seven meals and took a long nap yesterday, so I am feeling much recuperated, but these last couple weeks really have been very demanding; experienced some extreme tiredness, the kind that warps reality.
I shall endeavor to post busily through the end of the month, but it all starts again tomorrow, and who knows what life will ask of me. To bolster myself against the unknown, I am going to post this, then go down to the river with a good woman, where we'll string a hammock and listen to the water run.
--JL
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