In the end, it's me and my work. I am still finding out what my relationship is but at the very least, I know my side of the bargain.

Somethings do not make a difference. Despite having to remove certain staples like waking up around noontime to my mum's specially prepared "everyday brunch," taking Nian Nian out for his walk in my pyjamas, smsing ( Read more... )

it all began with Ross, the librarian at the Hoose library of Philosophy at Mudd's. Mark Taper Hall, where most of our classes are held, is a non-descript, functional building without justice to the humanities departments which it houses. But the Mudd Hall where the philosophy department is located, is a something to salivate over. Except the red ( Read more... )

John McClane arrives at the airport and lights up a cigarette. A voluptous woman, religiously tanned in white spandex, jumps onto whom we can presume is her boyfriend. Greetings. John inhales deeply and mutters post jet-lag, "uh, California ( Read more... )

It is all part of moving, I know. It will get better once we get a place to call home, they say. But as with other things you hear -- oh yeah, homesickness comes in jolts ( Read more... )

It was the third hotel that we've tried to check in over the past one and a half days. The first tried to mug my bags, the second we gave in to its luxury, and the third it settled us for the dusty road. At the sparsely crowded lobby, we overheard one girl here on a visit from Las Vegas and another just from up-state. With tiny twined ponytails, ( Read more... )

And so we say that we've got to share a night of booze in our lifetime. If it were anyone else who says that, I would have raised my eyebrows. But you -- have I told you that you remind me of Danny in Grey's Anatomy? -- I believe, and set aside a night in secret. The way I did three years ago, almost, by the pavement. My father asked, "Who's ( Read more... )

Getting drunk one week before actually having the license to do so is embarassingly satisfying. After all, it's not going to be awhile that one can let go in a trusty cab with its trusty plastic bag. Equally venting is to have printed and sent for binding my dissertation - The Paleonymy of The Human , seeing Aleena and the girls at the former's ( Read more... )

We are all up to our ears these days. But mine still can't compare to how many ears RB and JWP have. Tasking one paper is bad enough for the tortoise in me, the review is still in the chuts, and now I'm tempted to contribute something else on Bataille which JWP asked today. Saying no to writing is so much harder than saying no to friends, food, or ( Read more... )

I am reading my chapters and something smells terribly wrong: I was indifferent to rhetoric, to the mode of address, to the most important of all 'politics': polemics.

Fuck.

Other than truly pertinent and lovable social obligations, I am going into the mountain, cave, whatever, recluse of writing and re-writing.

See you in August.

I sent off Picasso's Dying Horse postcard to Hester today. Hester who in her performance, asked us to mount Nietzsche's female vessel and whisper: "I love you." (I climbed my way backwards and whispered "I love you too" instead. It all made sense the next day after 'Echo'). I have been thinking of giving that image to her back then ( Read more... )