My brain is developing a mind of its own.
I don't know, lately it seems to *know* things that it doesn't actually know. Like I will get a lot of answers right while watching Jeopardy, even though the category is one that I recognize only hazily. Or I'll have an idea about someone or something that turns out to be spot on. I can't think of specific examples without making it sound as though what I'm explaining is some kind of sixth sense or a keen discernment faculty or whatever, and maybe that is what I'm talking about, but in its moment it feels more like I learned something while I was sleeping, and upon waking, the essence or aura (or is it the trace? I'll always love you Walter Benjamin) of the thing, the residue of the sleep-lesson, collects within me at a certain precise moment, which is maybe the same thing as recalling a kind of dream, but a very lucid one that can be applied to actual events like Jeopardy and the plots of movies and details about characters in books.
Meanwhile, I feel bored by almost everything that purports to be interesting or innovative (shut up everybody, just please shut up), and vastly entertained by exceedingly banal forms of leisure--television (not the "thinker" shows, either), food blogs (this one is smarter and more compelling than most lit-blogs that I habitually stumble around; it's cooking *and* theory; this post is maybe my favorite so far; Rachael Kendrick, let's mingle), Facebook. So while it seems like one lobe of my brain is getting sharper, completely of its own accord, the other lobe, the one that I'm supposedly more in control of, and probably supposed to be feeding nutritious bits of literature and culture, feels like it's on standby. (I know I'm not using "lobe" in an anatomically correct way here, but it still feels right.)
My diagnosis of this current condition is that it's probably the exactly-right climate in which to start writing something new...my front-most mind is pleasantly dulled, but its hindquarters are snapping and popping and noticing a lot. It's hard to leave The School but I feel like I must commit to trying.
Meanwhile, I feel bored by almost everything that purports to be interesting or innovative (shut up everybody, just please shut up), and vastly entertained by exceedingly banal forms of leisure--television (not the "thinker" shows, either), food blogs (this one is smarter and more compelling than most lit-blogs that I habitually stumble around; it's cooking *and* theory; this post is maybe my favorite so far; Rachael Kendrick, let's mingle), Facebook. So while it seems like one lobe of my brain is getting sharper, completely of its own accord, the other lobe, the one that I'm supposedly more in control of, and probably supposed to be feeding nutritious bits of literature and culture, feels like it's on standby. (I know I'm not using "lobe" in an anatomically correct way here, but it still feels right.)
My diagnosis of this current condition is that it's probably the exactly-right climate in which to start writing something new...my front-most mind is pleasantly dulled, but its hindquarters are snapping and popping and noticing a lot. It's hard to leave The School but I feel like I must commit to trying.
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