Nights like this, when I'm tired and more than a little mentally drained, I occasionally sit alone in what I very generously think of as my office, the hum of my aging computer trebling in my ears like a profoundly disturbing mechanical cricket, eyes closed, trying desperately to imagine what it must be like to be me...
I just finished the last few pages of a bullshit treatise on the ethical and epistemological ramifications of the conception of evil...it's so stilted I feel like if I stand on my chair I can just about see my own asshole. It's a few thousand words of you-asked-for-it, you-got-it, opinion-on-demand academic whoremongering, but, hey, that's me, Big Al's House of Pedantry and All-Nite Coin-Op Sophistry (Revelations While-U-Wait).
I had a chance to take a turn around a gallery opening at the girls' camp across the lake (former finishing school turned liberal arts extravaganza tous filles across town). Far be it from me to have an opinion about art, but some of this stuff ran down the backs of my eyeballs like three-day-old truckstop coffee.
There was more, but I forget.
END COMMUNICATION
About Me
- The Masked Logician
- I am the Masked Logician. Once staunchly opposed to ignorance and intellectual apathy, I now actively encourage and contribute to both. Cognitive Dissidence is both the vehicle for my peculiar brand of philosophic chaos and the record of my cerebral sallies against the world at large. I invite you to accompany me if you will, but proceed with caution: Objects in the mirror may be less logical than they appear.