I am so happy it is not sunny today. I think I would stay home if it was.
I fell asleep last night at 10. I was experiencing moderate - severe anxiety at school yesterday, for no apparent reason, so I was full of drugs. By the time I got home my body felt so exhausted.
People exhaust me. I am consistently disappointed. Whine blah blah. It's strange to see someone you once loved in a totally different light. I overestimate people a lot of the time.
My main goal over the past four years at my university has been to locate the most isolated areas. Yesterday I discovered floor five of the library. Sounds obvious, but I generally avoid the library because it is usually full of stupid people. I discovered that I can sit in the middle of an aisle for two hours surrounded by early 20th century French critical theory and see no one except a couple kissing 2 aisles down.
I am reading some Georges Bataille "essays" or selected writings at the moment.
One of the texts is called "The Solar Anus" and it is probably one of the best things I have read recently. Mind orgasm extraordinaire. I found an online version here, I recommend it. It's a short read, basically a poem. Bataille is one of my favourite writers, he is a combination of everything I love...heavily sexual (he also writes pornography), morbid, surrealist, borderline existentialist but rejected by the existentialists because he's too macabre and doesn't subscribe to the Icarian Complex, post-Marxist theorist...generally...awesome. And he loves the Marquis deSade and Nietzsche but is critical of their work. *Sigh of satisfaction*
I am contemplating skipping class again today because I feel really depressed.
"A man who finds himself among others is irritated because he does not know why he is not one of the others.
In bed next to a girl he loves, he forgets that he does not know why he is himself instead of the body he touches.
Without knowing it, he suffers from the mental darkness that keeps him from screaming that he himself is the girl who forgets his presence while shuddering in his arms.
They can very well try to find each other; they will never find anything but parodic images, and they will fall asleep as empty as mirrors."
"The sea continuously jerks off.
Solid elements, contained and brewed in water animated by erotic movement, shoot out in the form of flying fish.
The erection and the sun scandalize, in the same way as the cadaver and the darkness of cellars."