Grey, rainy days, how I hate you! I am almost twenty-two, and still unloved. You remind me that beauty is a brief thing. You remind me that death hovers over me on dark wings. You even make me want to think of death… I don’t for a moment suppose it’s the weather that ails me. Too much New York cheer, no doubt! I am exhausted, mentally and physically, unable to see things as they are. Straight normalities have a dark and crooked look when I am low and fagged. I cannot write anymore - it requires the living death of loneliness and solitude to make me write - and no writing ever done is worth it.
you guys, I got a NYPL library card and I now feel like a true New Yorker. I have already sped through my first book and now am bookmarking a storm for my next set of checkouts. send me recommendations please!
here’s what I like to read about (and don’t judge)
We philosophers really need to know the truth (about everything!); we need to know so badly that we even need you to know. If you don’t, we’re unhappy. On the other side of the debate is…basically, everyone else. Sure, when we’re being uncharitable, we’ll point to the MR. F’s and “moron jocks” (Steve Holt (!)) who prefer ignorance, but when we’re being fair, philosophers will admit that there are plenty of smart people who seem to think we’re wrong about self-knowledge being the key to happiness. Since there are no smart people on television, let’s take the Bluths as our guides in reconsidering whether ignorance really is bliss.
I must buy this book.