mintcar

6-4-03

Dear Bloggie,

My day was sour, sweet and tired. Summer smells like jasmine flowers and heat rising from asphalt. These days I am more and more bucolic, more and more sick of the triteness that is this world. I am in the mood to look at each piece of work Fate presents to me with a dark, dark lens. I am calling out to my old pal Nietzsche for back up: where is this damn uber mensch? Where is the Best Work? Why is this world so full of shitty, mediocre, and half-assed things; empty promises, false pretenses, partial effort, and unfinished dreams? Where is the Best Work? Where are the People who Really Care? Where are the Devoted?

This is what my life is: choosing the best. A process of examination: juxtaposing, lifting each object and item and relationship (holy shit, am i commodifying it all? no, sometimes we need to quantify to see things as they are ... ) and choosing. Ultimately, it means 99.9999% of the possibilities are out. And ideally, the best remains. It's by no means a scientific process; there is no optimum. I just have to learn to accept that I have one spot for a billion 'applicants.' After all, if I really value my time as much as I value spending it on things that are worthwhile, my choices are, essentially, important. These are issues of power, not of discovery (discovery usually precedes final choice).

And I am learning ... what, to me and for me, is the Best.

...that is, by my own, faltering, skipping, whimsical, head-in-the-clouds standards.

Urs True-ly,

jeanie <3

P.S. Here's a song I like:
One more chance, I'll try this time/ I'll give you yours, I won't take mine/
I'll listen up, pretend to care/ Go on ahead, I'll meet you there

And she said that I'm not the one that she thinks about and/ She said it stopped being fun, I just bring her down/
I said, "Don't let your future be destroyed by my past"/ She said, "Don't let my door hit your ass"

Let's try this one more time with feeling/ ...
One more time with feeling
One more time with feeling
One more time with feeling

P.P.S. Life is the funny thing that happens on the way to your grave.
P.P. P. S. Do not be to hasty to admire those of morality (also insert: compassion, intellect, farouche, wealth, technical robustness, creativity, athleticism); they talk like angels but live like men.
P. P. P. P. P. P. S. Am I turning back into a misanthrope?