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C.: Discuss Amongst Yourselves

So I thought that my computer was broken, and it turns out that only the charger was broken, which since it was only being held together by duck tape I already knew! Apple Stores in Mexico City sell chargers!  In capitalism, everybody (with a credit card) wins!

Ahem. I wanted to explain why I am only just now, 13 minutes before midnight, getting around to posting something about the first chunk of C., especially odd since (as you’ve discovered) so far it’s not the kind of book you need a Hard Book Reading Club to get through.

But as I was jotting my thoughts in a little Mexican notebook I realized that I had too many thoughts to write out in one post, and so these are the titles of the posts I would have written if i were writing three posts for our first chunk of reading.  But if you want to post on these topics instead of me, you get first crack, either in the comments to this or in your own posts.  Those three topics are:

Rewriting Edwardian England (a certain person who took a course on Forster, Woolf, and Proust in 1994 might find that topic particular interesting)

Signal and Noise (Paranoia and Reading)

Pageantry (I’m guessing this is not a theme that will be carried through the whole book, but I was interested in it)

Or of course you could post on whatever you like so far.  Gentlemen, start your engines–

July 3, 2015 Posted by | C | 5 Comments

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Finnegan’s Slumber

If there’s an -ist that applies to me it’s pensivist. Maybe I should go cold turkey on thinking. I confess that the strategy of doing it moderately doesn’t feel like the winning strategy. And what is a strategy if it is not winning. Isn’t it all about winning? It is. It is. It is. Therefore I am. Whether I like it or not. Nobody asked me. Except myself. Precisely nobody, that is.

I’m reading Finnegans Wake. I confess to ambivalence about it. It’s great but makes me feel little. What is the point?, is that the point? It is a snake; it is; it is; it is. But I was bitten long before. Now I’m just rattled. Ha. The beauty of it is: it is self-contained. I read it without trying to understand.

But let me think about the eternal recurrence of the eternal recurrence. I hate it but confess to loving those who seem to love it, or, at least, who love those who love those who seem to love it. The thing is that those who seem to love it are those who break the cycle and, methinks, Finnegans Wake breaks the cycle.

Thus –>

Continue reading

July 3, 2015 Posted by | books, boredom, Friday Afternoon Confessional | , , , , , | 1 Comment