she said "you're pretty good with words but words won't save your life"

1.
I still believe in apartment parties and esoteric conversations involving
the demise of Rod Stewart's libido. I still have impatience with the
suggestion that it's time to start getting serious, though Peter Pan
never seemed to get to do the things I wanted to do. Unfulfilled longing
gets as much traction as it ever does, as does the implication that
holding grudges against modernism is an exercise whose effects and
machinations are best held close to the vest. All this aside, there
comes a time, and that time hasn't come quite yet; its intimations are
slick with anticipation. It turns out this thing doesn't just happen
as a course, an unfolding or unpeeling, as it were. Steps are required,
and the manual has lots of symbols ^&*(##~~~~ with cultural resonance.
[Loading customized self-improvement program . . .]

2.
In the next eight days, I'm going re-re-read the largish novel, Infinite
Jest. Or large parts of it, at least. Aside from drinking largish amounts
of coffee and sucking down Marlboro Lights like a banshee on California
crystal meth, I have little to do except grow a beard like this guy




and enter a state of bliss like this




Endorsement of participatory democracy: if you read the book and have something to say about what I say about it, or if you are human and respond to the psychological terrain of being human in these times and have something to say about it, please do so, in private or out here in cyberspace. Good day.