“When I say or write something, there are actually a whole lot of different things I am communicating. The propositional content (i.e., the verbal information I’m trying to convey) is only one part of it. Another part is stuff about me, the communicator. Everyone knows this. It’s a function of the fact there are so many different well-formed ways to say the same basic thing, from e.g. “I was attacked by a bear!” to “Goddamn bear tried to kill me!” to “That ursine juggernaut did essay to sup upon my person!” and so on.” ~ David Foster Wallace
“I have this — here’s this thing where it’s going to sound sappy to you. I have this unbelievably like five-year-old’s belief that art is just absolutely magic. And that good art can do things that nothing else in the solar system can do. And that the good stuff will survive, and get read, and that in the great winnowing process, the shit will sink and the good stuff will rise.” ~ David Foster Wallace
After a couple of hours of stars and worrisome political journalism I find myself feeling lazy and not wholly committed to writing in this blog this morning. No biggie, right? I’ve just clicked on the electric space heater for the first time this season. Rosie the cat was right there to lay in front of it mere minutes after ignition. Yeh, I think it feels good too. It is nearly sunrise. The mind is slow; coffee all gone. Eyes all sore and puffy and friggin allergy weepy and stuff. When I get sick, to whatever degree, I unconsciously ignore, even disdain, the fact that I am sick, and then I wonder why I feel so bad. Of course it’s my attitude. He said ironically. So, am I lazy or just tired; or why do you want to make a distinction anyway? Today and tomorrow off. My body is way jittery this morning, and yet I could nod off in an instant. Go figure. All clues are in, Mr. Watson. What do you make of it, my good sir?
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.