A few things you might not know about me: 1. I got a degree in Cell & Molecular Biology (what?) 2. right now I'm working on my masters in Philosophy (again, what?) and 3. I don't plan on "using" either one (WHAT?). What I really want to do is what I'm doing here-- something fashionable, something written, something fashion magazine centered. Nothing like what I've done in school, but it's not all for naught. In fact, studying philosophy will get you those mad world skillz, although you better learn your social skills elsewhere. Social butterflies should expect to be shunned amongst the halls of Coates. There is a reason why we hide our offices in the attic and the TAs call it "secret philosophy cave." Yes, it is a Platonic pun. And the printer used to go by "Socrates." NERDS, hell yes.

Anywho I wrote a blog about Christmas, being bipolar, and philosophy a while ago. I think I had a case of the debbie downers or maybe the jitters, but it's like I've got this tempting blog where I can share all my secrets and half-thoughts not so anonymously ALL OVER THE INTERNET. I feel safe because I can't see your face which means I can't see your disapproval/censure/fear. It's all confidential right?

Let's start with the gift. In celebration of the season I have compiled a little existentialist playlist for you. I put some happy tunes on there too so we don't over kill ourselves. Scroll to the very bottom and you'll find what's resting under the tree. Sorry that I didn't have time to wrap it. People got to work these days.

Wait, what does the birth of baby Hay-zeus, 8 days of lamp oil, or cultural pride have to do with Jean-Paul Sartre (Camus, if you like)? I don't know about you guys but when the fits of merriness die down I'm often left in a wake of restless existential upsets. Oh you know quiet moments when Being is just far too much to bear. Like what am I doing here? And what is this clump of matter I call my own? Nauuusseeeeaaa.

There is a flipside though. You can either drown in a pool of your own disgusting Being, or you can become the golden god of your own kingdom. One is responsible for all things, bears the weight of the whole world, chooses his own birth. It's a hefty burden, but it also makes you the ruler of all things. The king of the world. Your own...personal.....Jesus. Reach out, touch faith.

Sartre ate a lot of speed. I think this is relevant here. Plus he'll be remembered for his plays, not his philosophy. Also relevant.
Unlike Sartre I won't be remembered for anything because I'm not relevant in any way. Except for if I die really soon and you guys continue to post comments on my blog/myspace/facebook wall. Then I would live in the internet. OMG I just realized the internet is heaven. Or hell. Sartre said "Hell is other people," and we are all going to live there together forever.
All dogs go to heaven, all ppl go 2 teh interwebz.

In all seriousness winter is my favorite time of the year because there is something so wonderful about its wretched loneliness. Remember the great blizzard of Baton Rouge '08? You've got to feel the bitter biting wind and maybe a little snow to enjoy the warmth of a snugglebunny in a makeshift blanket hovel. Up and down, up and down, free wheeling see-saw-ery. And there is nothing quite like Chrismahanakwanzakuh to bring forth these underlying emotional bipolarities that plague our youth. Like you might think you are bipolar but really you are just flipping an existential coin. Or you might just be thirsty, like when you crave ice cream or that time you thought about having an abortion.

Bah. How strange it is that you are reading this thing I wrote.
How strange it is to be anything at all!

If I don't see you, Merry Chrismahanakwanzakuh bitches


  1. How strange it is to be anything at all!

    Indeed, my dear, indeed. I like these kinds of ruminations. They make me feel less guilty about not reading theory. hehe.


Hello, hello, and what are you thinking?