Monday, September 6, 2010

A Phantasm of Moscow, 2

I continue to organize and reorganize my notes and journal entries from Moscow. What I include below strikes me for how intensely it is marked by its location and temporality, and yet how astonishingly ahistoric it must be, paradoxical as it sounds, insofar as it continues to bear some relevance in my existence, in this new time, this new place.

Not to mention its self-referential and most blatant lift from Pahlaniuk's Invisible Monsters.
What can I tell you that you don’t already know? I waste my life away in archives doing research that I could, if I were working in a society that believed in freedom of information, I could complete within a semester. I pine after one of the Weeping Angels From Doctor Who, who only shows interest in me when I’ve turned my back…
first you say you won’t then you say you will you keep me hanging on but we’re not moving on…
I defeat myself with the same neuroses of self-doubt and –hatred that have always plagued me. And plagiarism. I can’t write for the constant citations and games of Joyce-inspired (but without the accompanying genius) treasure troves of quotes and references.


Give me a drunken blog post.


Give me brutal honesty.


Sibylla, ti theis?

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