4:46 p.m. - Tuesday, Mar. 15, 2005
It Creeps me out
I feel like I couldn't really give two shits if Leo Strauss is a gnostic according to Voegelin or not. Like, wow, dig it - Is Stauss like Nietszche? Is Neitszche like Plato? Did Plato claim you could know the real? Was Neitszche religious despite his infamous declaration that God is dead? Was Plato religious? Does Strauss think you can transcend the body? Who the fuck cares? I'll tell you who cares.
Aggro, arrogant, seemingly shameless boys in my critics of modernity seminar who talk with pretentious parisian accents and think they know everything all the time care. Also, my panicky, condescending, shrivelled little sorry academic of a professor, who also talks like he knows everything all the time cares. They go at eacother like eager ptaradactyl babies, sqawking and pecking and nipping, for the entire duration of the class, with no sense of propriety, and it makes me want to stick a pen into the back of my hand for relief. I hate them and I hate that class and I hate this school. Do they really think anything they have to say to anyone ever makes a fuck of a difference at all? I'm disgusted by peoples' endless ability to take themselves so seriously.
I think I may plunge a dagger into my heart, or my lower intestines. I think about that more than I think about alot of other stuff lately. I think the warmth of the steel blade through my blood would be comforting, like an electric blanket. Eliott Smith knew what time is was.
I just begged a smoke off some lady outside the library, and I had to pull the 3 inch filter out of the lady brand cigarette she gave me so as not to feel like I was dragging off of my own brain for a hit of nicotine, and so I ended up smoking what tasted like straight black ink and cyanide, unfiltered. I may vomit before the day is over.
Demon's Claws show on friday. I shall make myself horribly horribly drunk and high, so as to numb this constant irrational fear and discomfort. That will be fun. Ish.
