Chip on my shoulder:
I feel like I know a lot about how the world works, am I happier? Healthier? More successful? No. Am I kinder, more helpful? No. So what am I arguing for? Why am I – increasingly, ANGRY. Is the anger part of my passion? People say they want passion in their work. Scholars say they want passion in their research – well, I’ve got it. Bigtime. I have a chip on my shoulder. I’m ready to CUT down, destroy, kill all the postmodernists, starting with Derrida, ending with Lyotard. That will be my Thesis, My announcement. After that I’ll just write clever essays, get a nice university job at a beautiful campus, and live.
Want to be a poet:
I want to write poetry. Not because, I like it, so much as, it seems a difficult and novel task, that many great men, with whom I find I have much in common, attempted. Also relevant is the fact that nobody reads poetry any more, it is not in fashion. Thus I can write freely without concern of it being good, or measuring up, or even of being ever read by any individual other than myself. For who reads poetry? Especially in days were everyone, everyone and their neighbor’s daughter’s cousin’s playmates is a poet.
The audience is not participating, they are not really aware of what is happening, the magician (writer, artist) is ahead of them at every step, anticipating, planting false trap doors, false clues. He leads them, he manipulates them, he LIES to them: and they LOVE him for it. If he showed the trick, if he just told the story, without the flair, and pomp, and misdirection, and fancy language, and flashing lights and beautiful girls, nobody would read it. Moby Dick would just be a tiny notebook entry: “saw a white whale today, but couldn’t kill it.”
Only intelligence can willfully and purposely intend to be moral. Unintelligence will first choose to be moral, but without at all recognizing how to be moral. They will miss the specific necessities each situation merits and ignore the repercussions and consequences of action, both to self and others, and by choosing, “goodness” and the “right” action, may make themselves self-pitiful, envious, angry and violent, as well as smug, superior and scathingly judgmental. One large correct moral choice may result in years or a lifetime of small dark sins, bred through a bitter heart of perceived injustice.
Culture of Access:
Culture of access: First you have to have something, some idea, then you have to name it something unusual, so everybody knows it’s YOURS and yours only and if they use it you can sue them, then you can CHARGE for it! The Culture of Access has its ROOTS in religion. God is the one thing that men have consistently sold access to. Not God, benefits. What benefits? Prosperity, success, prayer, not to mention eternal life. Selling your soul for fun and profit. Selling Your Soul for Fun and Profit.