Jack Kerouac, as Sal Paradise once said: "I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion." And I think that's a rather apt description of my blog over the years, and perhaps the most perfect description of me in general that I've ever read. So that's what this blog is, a collection of the falling stars that are beckoning me at any time.

21 September 2005


I should be in advanced fiction studio right now, but I'm not, I stayed put in my chair in the computing lab. I'd done my work, my assinine set of questions for the manuscripts going today, but I just didn't feel like going. I just hate that class, it sucks all the joy out of life and it shouldn't. I used to love my fiction studios at Emerson, but I think that's because the professors at Emerson were awesome and not full of self-importance the way this professor is. This professor turns the emphasis off people working on their writing, off them improving in whatever voice and topic they happen to have, makes it about joylessness and her idea of what she wants to read. There are the same share of career workshoppers, they're everywhere that pompous, pretentious breed of writers who can't shut up about their experiences through writing and how somehow, someway everything anyone can ever write or think relates back to them. Who always have the same points of view as the professor, no matter that the last time you had a class with them they did the same thing, only the professor had opposite views; always belabour over some obvious point, some error of structure, as though it were the most important thing in the universe and they just can't get past it; who feign what has to be fake obtuseness about the meanings of absolutely clear things as though they get and are picking up on what it is you are trying to make but they refuse to attribute it to your intention as though you were making a mistake and somehow they are so clever that they're pointing it out to you so you can fix it. I hate these fuckers, but I rest assured in the belief that they are the airless sort who will never make it out of acadamia because that is the only place that such utter bullshit is ever thought or humoured. I know that it's true because half of the types of things that they'd never get or would have had a fieldday trying to change is the sort of thing that's not only published, but becomes an underground hit, a sensation amongst people with half a mind. So bI'm not going to class. I have 2 unexcused abscences a semester and I'm taking one of them right now and I'm not sorry. I didn't have a particular desire to discuss the manuscripts for this week anyway, I was mostly unwowed. Has there been an ebb in people who want to do edgy in university? A failed spectacular attempt is more desirable to me than a half successful bit of boring.

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