(mis)information overload. my head doesn't hurt but I feel my brain fuzzy underneath all those layers of bone crushed together. i hate reading books on a screen and it provokes a kind of mania that I want to escape from and promote at the same time: enter google reader like the information overload it is and wade through images and fragments (unread items: 1081) that I only slightly care about as a source of distraction. things on my mind: a desire to sew, a desire to make grilled cheese, a desire to lie in bed with a naked man, a desire to read deleuze like it was a robert duncan poem instead of a mind-fuck, a desire to be submerged in water so hot my extremities feel shocked-cold when they touch the surface. knowledge that I could do 1 2 3 or 4 and feel a lot better but the intertia holds me back. the click of the hot plate on the coffee machine. the sounds of cyclists murmuring to each other. my anger at lukacs after reading "Realism in the Balance" - how could someone so smart so completely misintrepret the pulse of their time? Upon writing that I immediately feel stupid considering my historical position - now, not then. "periods" and/or periodization only makes sense/occurs in retrospect any ways. anyways, I love Brecht. Sure. I'm eating half a tomato covered in salt.

hate you, internet. love you, people reading this.

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