Archive for the 'Other' Category

I Have Submitted My Dissertation

Sunday, July 1st, 2007

And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

and look at this prepronominal funferal, engraved and retouched and edgewiped and puddenpadded, very like a whale’s egg farced with pemmican, as were it sentenced to be nuzzled over a full [...]

A Game

Sunday, June 3rd, 2007

Match the following stretches of text:A
Demurrer breathtaking ambuscade cyclorama. Bladderwort acquittal a abed buddy archimedes. Condemnate coin clothesman ban dime cursive deduce amadeus cohort. Catheter breeches agnew burma bullhead cutlet billie.

B
For example, the heavy grammar felled the frontier. An individual and overlapping ambiguity developed. Astute [...]

The World Was Once Unbounded, Now We Think Even Space and Time are Closed Loops

Monday, November 25th, 2002

My spell-checker just flagged “reconception”, suggesting it be changed to “preconception”.

Influx

I will shortly post the essays that are the end product of my philosophy studies this year.

Hi!

Wednesday, August 21st, 2002

“Hi davka! It’s been 210 days since you joined Xanga… won’t you support us by going Premium?”

No, I will not. I began using your service because it was free, and I will continue to do so, while it remains free. Seeing as you address me as if you are a person, I feel obliged to [...]

Miscellany

Friday, May 17th, 2002

Last night the sky around Newcastle was lighting up as if the horizon was the edge of a dark room in which God was watching television. There were no clouds in the sky, and there haven’t been all day, either (so it couldn’t have been the second coming, which starts with a cloud the size [...]

Wednesday, May 8th, 2002

From an interesting dialogue between Pierre Bourdieu and G¸nter Grass [published as ‘The Progressive Restoration’ in New Left Review, 14, March-April 2002], some quotes.“Critiques of neoliberal policy are not equal to its effects.” [Bourdieu]“I never take part in talk-showsóthe form is hopeless, it yields nothing. Amidst all the blathering, the person who wins out is [...]

Tuesday, May 7th, 2002

Hey, if this review can be trusted, Jennifer Egan’s Look at Me looks interesting. Better than Infinite Jest and Underworld, the reviewer contends. (I haven’t read The Corrections—something about that fucking Oprah Book Club logo on the cover keeps deterring me… even after reading the scandal that was whipped up after Franzen said Oprah was an illiterate [...]

Sunday, May 5th, 2002

At Cooks Hill Books and Records yesterday I stumbled across an original copy of the inaugural double-issue of Conjunctions. Only $5, too. It contains some beautiful writing, as it has ever since. Including a piece by David Antin, who writes brilliant philosophical stream-of-consciousness works; you can read two online: tuning, and the noise of time. [...]

Sunday, May 5th, 2002

I used to spend high-school nights reading the debates in the talk.origins newsgroup. So I’m always interested to read articles like these, which argue against the best proponents of Intelligent Design (a catch-all term for the leading theories that attempt to ground creationism in purely scientific terms, rather than appeal to authorities outside science). The God of [...]

Saturday, May 4th, 2002

As I post this entry and consider what to write I think to myself, just how many people out there read my rants, and from within them, just how many care about literary theory, and to those left, well, how ironic that I adopt a metafictional ironic stance within a complex sentence that attempts to map [...]

Saturday, May 4th, 2002

Driving home through the rain after talking about forever, thinking that the world is everything that is in the instant and minds are everything that are in the past and future, droplets swimming in the air and sliding down the windscreen, your mind floating on top of itself then sinking to track the red light [...]

Friday, May 3rd, 2002

“As if the soul’s fullness didn’t sometimes overflow into the emptiest of metaphors, for no one, ever, can give the exact measure of his needs, his apprehensions, or his sorrows; and human speech is like a cracked cauldron on which we bang out tunes that make bears dance, when we want to move the stars [...]