Unanticipated Nostalgia

I can't even explain. These two sentences have replaced 1,000 other words that failed.

Decades of "progress" have actually somehow "un-cheesed" these.

This was always great:


Maybe I am almost finally ready to get old

I'm not there yet. But I'm less scared. Sure, there's the decrease in physical and mental capacities, the smell and spectre of death, but there is also the chance to one day completely and utterly bow out of the contemporary and any wish for a public, engaged, even prominent life (which I still haven't achieved so maybe I can't be old yet). Given the endless churn of everything at all times, I think, sadly, that the most subversive gesture available will be to retire to my study (which I still haven't built so maybe I can't be old yet) with a compilation of Beethoven's Late Quartets, a few cases of fine Scotch and a DVD set of some British TV series that is meant to take place before rock and roll came along and destroyed everything. It won't be hard to cultivate the sense of haughty disdain with which I will address others; all I will have to do, as I look up from my biography of some famous historical figure, peering over unfashionable reading glasses, is repeat my typical critiques of society, people, politics, and contemporary culture, with contempt and passionless incredulity instead of anger and thwarted hope. Who are we bombing this year, dear? Of course. Is the tea ready?

(I'm getting ready a bit too soon by watching episodes from the above series, but I figure, as long as England is bursting with self-serious theater majors who are unable or unwilling to work in Hollywood, there will always be some nearly-retired detective, wandering somewhere around the pastoral England of Morrissey's dreams, using his expressive eyebrows and understated wit to badger people into confessing their crimes.)


Going home

Not sure when yet, but it's certain at this point. Everything is bullshit, and everywhere is bullshit, but at least some places make good kabobs. At this point, that's the only standard by which I can judge anything. I can't depend on myself, I can't depend on others, but at least I can depend on the rice.

Why do I keep forgetting to lie?

If this post seems obtuse or inscrutable in any way, then I envy you your day job, and I envy you your friends and lovers.

i'm just wondering if I'll even like home without Pharmacy. Only one way to find out…

EDIT: waah, waah, waah, yeah, but these last few years… everything I know about life tells me that the only way to make good things happen in life is to leave the house, and yet, here, now, that's the only way to ensure that something bad will happen. I don't get it. I don't even talk politics with people; the only opinions I have that would alienate others are the ones I keep to myself, and yet I feel more alienated than I ever have. It's insane. It's like being 16 again but with fewer friends and less hope. This is the last time I bitch about this place online. I promise. And if you ever find me sharing a drink with you and you find me discussing this place, just remind me, gently, not to, and I will do so. Because discussing this place ever again will be a waste of our time. The only thing worse than a bad situation is a bad situation that provides no opportunity for insight. Unlike the vast majority of experiences I've had, music I've listened to, books I've read, people I have met, whet it comes to Providence, I've learned nothing and have no good stories from my time here. I just wish I had my time back. That's all.