Thursday, March 26, 2009

Meet me on the rooftop of the world



I will be spending four weeks here (Dharamsala, India) this summer.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Lucky for you I take pictures of random shit around my room






(some of this stuff is not from my room)

Spring Broke

I haven't been giving Spinoza enough attention over Break. I am a bad philosopher. I will try to make it up to him eventually.

Yesterday I went to the opening of an exhibit at a warehouse in Williamsburg. Tara and I drank free beer, took a few laps around the exhibit, then met some awesome artists. Then we went to Alligaytor Lounge, scavenged some pizza tickets, had a beer then bailed. Tres weak.

On my way to sit in a cafe, binge on coffee, and read Dante, I was stopped by a pair of individuals. One was South Korean woman and the other was a darkhaired guy who didn't say a word. They wanted to know if I had heard of "the female image of God" in the Bible. Being a religious studies student (I hate the redundancy of saying that), I was skeptical, but I was having trouble figuring out what this woman was trying to say thanks to her accent. I was genuinely interested in what they were saying until she started to say that it was the "end times", and alluding to apocalyptic prophecy in the Bible. Now, I have read the bible, even Revelations. But I read it in an academic setting, as literature not Truth. As soon as they brought in the end of days, Heaven, the one True God, I couldn't take them seriously. If I'd been in less of a hurry, perhaps I would have asked them to show me just where in the Bible WWII is explicitly prophesied. I remarked that prophecy is written so generally that it is easily misinterpreted. People have "seen the signs of the end times as prophesied in the Bible" since the Bible was written! So, I mentioned my studies, and that was when her partner finally jumped in, asking "May I ask what religion you practice?" There was something in the way he intoned his question that made me defensive, so I replied, "I don't practice a religion. I'm a religious studies student." Then he asked me if I'd ever been Catholic in the past. I don't think he meant past lives, but if he had I probably would have answered yes. But I told him no. It was at this point I started backing away. They were desperate to keep me on the hook but I had better things to do than debate with people who seemed to have less understanding of Christian theology than I do. And that is saying something, not being Christian and everything. To get them to finally back off I told them I would need direct revelation to believe in whatever it was they were trying to tell me about. The guy said, "But it says that you have to come to it for salvation, it won't come to you." I said, "It's already coming to me. Don't worry about my salvation," and walked away. About twenty feet later another pair of people approached me, and said, "Excuse me, may we talk to you for a moment?" I answered him with another question. "Are you with those people over there?" and pointed in the direction I'd just come from. "I don't know. Have you heard about the female image of God? We're with the something or other Elohim blah blah blah." "Yep, that's what they said, too." "So you're not interested?" "Nope, thanks!" Then I waved and walked away.

For the rest of the afternoon I ascended the mountain of Purgation, passed through the cleansing fire of realization, entered the Garden of Earthly delights and was baptised in the rivers of oblivion and good memory. Afterward, I went grocery shopping. Trader Joe's is a godsend. I told them not to worry about my salvation. I can find it on my own, thanks.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Why St. Partick's Day is a Bunch of Horseshit

I officially renounce the celebration of the ideological conquest of Irish culture by Christian dogma and patriarchy.

I, for one, like snakes.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Old Patterns

Why is it that the men most available to me are usually those who are the least available? Girlfriends are always there. Girlfriends I've met, and whose company I enjoy.

Why are they the ones who kiss me in the cab and follow me to my door? Even when I ask, "Do you have to go home?" the implicit meaning being, "Shouldn't you go home to your girlfriend, who is no doubt expecting you?" And of course, his answer is, "It's up to you." Well, no, it really isn't. I have no obligations in this situation. Well, I do. My obligation is to say, "I don't think this is a good idea. Perhaps you should go home to your girlfriend." But I don't. Why? Because I like the attention. Even moreso because it is coming from an unobtainable man. I don't do it on purpose. But I see the look in their eye, the spark of sexual attraction. So I let it go as far as it can. I tell myself, "This is just how men are." Ugh. What a crock. This is how shit men are.

Still, he came to his senses. To my relief.

I had unlocked my front door. The reality staring him in the face.

"I shouldn't do this," he says. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand."

"I'm sorry," he repeats between kissing my mouth. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand."

I really do. I'd rather you go. This isn't what I pictured for this night. This isn't what I want, either. To be the seductress, again. The temptation. I'm not even wearing makeup. I'm wearing dirty clothes. How does this happen? When I was unlocking the door, all I could think was, where are the condoms? Will this be sloppy? Will I even enjoy it? These aren't the kind of doubts that preface a good decision.

I walk in the door alone. Into the darkness. I don't even turn to see him walk down the stairs. Just go and be gone. It was fun making out. See you around. Hope it isn't awkward. I hope next time you go home with your girlfriend. Or do I?

Friday, March 13, 2009

half-assed hypochondria

How things inevitably go wrong, but I wrought the pattern with intention.

My professor says, "I'm Geertzian with respect to the fact that I believe no one can be without religion the same way no one can be without language."
I said, "In that case, if I were to claim a religion for myself, it would be language."

Then I remembered how, in my application essay to New School, I wrote how, "Even before I knew how to read, I've been fascinated by letters." Then I related an anecdote telling how in Kindergaarten, during play time, I used to just tap the keys on the old type writer in the room. I didn't know what the letters stood for and if I spelled any words it was through the great unlikelihood that I would randomly strike a series of keys that would spell a word. There was just something utterly enthralling about watching those strange symbols appear on the paper. I took to language very easily. In second grade I read and mostly understood The Call of the Wild. By third grade I was reading at a sixth grade level. By sixth grade I was reading at an eighth grade level.

Letters have been my gateway into the world of infinite imaginative possibility, and it is in that infinite creative potential that the real ingenuity of free will reveals itself.

Not only can the words themselves be beautiful to hear, but the letters themselves can be represented as art.

With some regularity I receive compliments on my handwriting. Once while checking out at the Strand the cashier complimented my signature on my receipt. I told him "Thanks. You'll want it in a book someday." My brother often remarks about my lack of humility, but I am just secure in the knowledge that people will want to read my writing. I have received unsolicited praise of my writing throughout the various tiers of my education. The first time I can remember is my AP US History teacher junior year of high school.


(I don't know my blood type, but can I have one of your kidneys?)

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Briefly, fly by fire

Senior work proposal is consuming my life. Was floundering for a while to find a working research question narrow enough to build my proposal on. Finally, this afternoon busted out something kind of manageable, at least for round one--pre-revision. I'm sure not a single one of you has any idea what I'm talking about, but here it is... Dante Theologus: What is the relationship of Dante's representation of Heaven, specifically in the Circle of the Sun in Paradiso X-XIV, to the conflict between Scholastic philosophy and radical eschatology in late medieval Italy, especially as pertaining to the competition between the Franciscan and Dominican order and to the heretical eschatology of Joachim of Flora.

Yes, it is convoluted. That is why I will spend the rest of my weekend reading and writing and clarifying (hopefully) and writing and bibliographing.

Oh, did I mention that as soon as I finish my proposal, I have to start a 10-page paper on the chapter of my choice from Spinoza's Tractatus Theologico-Politicus, explaining it in its own context and then to the work as a whole by Thursday? And another midterm for the same day.

At least I submitted my application to Dharamsala today so I no longer have that burden weighing on me.

Damn it, I need to learn to read Latin, French, German and Italian. And Greek. And Spanish.