This Is Some Real Navelgazing Horseshit

I'm restless, but it's a good kind of restless. Kastoory, a fellow Benningtonian, requested my literary presence in a magaziney type thing she's putting together. I'm foggy on the details, but I've been trying to hard to put something together for her that's worth the effort of the initial request. I've been thinking about it quite a bit since she wrote me to ask, and tonight I came up with something in bed. I thought to myself, "Oh, great, I'll remember that and write it tomorrow."

But I won't, and I knew it, and so I got up, fixed myself a drink and came downstairs to type until I couldn't.

I've finished a rough draft of the piece, but I've still got the midnight bug in me, so I've poured another round and have sat down here to make something of the nervous, brainy energy I call inspiration that rolls around less frequently than good news at the white house.

I'm less certain of anything now than I ever have been in my past. I'm still young, but in my younger youth I was fueled by righteousness and the certainty of vindication for everything I said and did. Tonight, for example, I read an essay I wrote at school that Steven Bach was so proud of that he read it out loud to my class as an example of good work. I look back at it now and see so many faults, flaws, and errors. Most of the problems I see consist of righteous assumptions that I can no longer make with any certainty.

And then my brain ran aground and I edited something together for the next several minutes.

Experimental Video #1

Wanted: Video distortion effects that will allow me to faithfully reproduce the audiovisual flavor of the cable box of my youth rapidly changing channels.

And finally I am tired and have nothing left to say.

I know it seems like I didn't even say much, but it took me an hour and a half to get my little experimental video together. So yeah.

Anyway.