June 2008
18 posts
“Cities are a product of time. They are the molds in which men’s lifetimes...”
– Lewis Mumford, The Culture of Cities
student journalism
Although I rarely discuss it now, I had the distinct pleasure of being the editor-in-chief of the student paper while I was in my third year of undergrad. Back in those days, I was a younger version of the godless socialist that I have blossomed into today, and I don’t think it any exageration to say that I did my best to wrestle the student paper from the clutches of the useless student...
modern depravity
It is an absolutely gorgeous day. The perfect weather for turning off the computer and going outside in search of something to blog about.
“Ultimately our lives are only partially ours. The parts of our lives that...”
– Tom Bissell, “War Wounds,” Harper’s, December 2004
1 tag
the metaphysics of suffering
There is a strange compulsion to imaginatively return to the sites where our hearts were once broken and our souls suffered greatly. The haunting tragedies we forever attempt to flee are precisely those to which we endlessly journey towards. Grief is seductive. It is set into motion by the paradoxical movement of a mind that is ceaselessly guided by a desire to resurrect the dead who, by all...
“Creating content is expensive. The cost of the tools may have dropped...”
– Mark Cuban (thanks, Sarah) (via marco)
1 tag
lowercase vs. Uppercase.
marco:
All-lowercase writing expresses additional meaning that you may not intend:
You’re lazy.
You’re careless.
You’re uneducated.
You don’t care about the legibility of your text.
And if we are to follow this logic to its obvious conclusion, then it is safe to say that e.e. cummings was an asshole.
1 tag
“People that live in glass houses are best advised to shut the fuck up.”
– me.
ur internet iz dead
At some point over the last several months, I came to the abrupt realization that I had experienced every last joy that the internet had to offer. I had lost track of all the hip websites that I’d been to and the accounts I’d created. For a while my browsing habits were so cutting edge that I became convinced that the path to salvation was paved with rounded typefaces and missing vowels. Yet...
a word to the graduates →
Just like the Onion, every once in a while McSweeney’s goes on an absolute fucking tear. Consider the following excerpt from a recent post, which is a satirical commencement address that would no doubt liven up what in reality is a rather drab affair that is generally four hours too long and far too sweaty.
Friends and family, faculty, and, of course, the graduates: I am honored that you...
in remembrance
Poetry is dead, I write its epitaph in verse. My humble prayer to messiah wishes birds still dared take flight, and that the streets we danced upon had gone on winding without end. So forever sound the bells that cry, poetry is dead.
1 tag
on writing
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets Ideas punctuate the mind like fireflies in the night, emerging out of the darkness for a fleeting moment before retreating back into the blackened void. The modest task of the writer is to seize these ideas from the ether of...