scatter.

i made this here headband with my favorite feather.
lucas and i are heading to the "sin bin" a bar in the UES that houses the funniest collection of irish folk. including a bartender named marcus whom i believe has a bit of a crush on me.
but before i leave i jotted something down at work and wanted to record it in this here blog.

1848: Communist Manifesto, Springtime of the Peoples

1968: Martin Luther King dies, Tet Offensive, Situationist Internationale

There are some periods in history when everyone explodes and just goes nuts all over the place. Lots of people have done that lately. When things explode I think "life is funny in that sick way, don't worry about it." This line of reasoning is becoming less and less effective as time goes by. Even though I think its funny that I feel bad, I still feel bad, so I don't know. What can you do though? Just deal with it I guess. I think its pointless to indulge in your own trauma and angst, but I guess you have to adress it to some degree.
I just get wary. I start to wonder if my emotions are authentic--if I'm being manipulated by the media or the culture at large to feel certain things in certain situations, so I insticntivley distrust any sort of feeling. I try and go the other way--laugh about feeling bad, get angry over feeling good, that sort of thing, but its not getting any easier. but fuck it. I dont have time to feel sad now, and I don't really feel too terrible at this particular moment anyway. I have to admit, there is something comforting about being sad, it sort of insulates and indulges you. Perhaps that is what I need right now.
Doing shit like this is like a rite of passage, one that reconciles cynicism and faith. I know for me, sometimes I will purposely fuck myself over, just to see what will happen. I reaffirm my taste for being contrary, and, when I see that I'm still breathing, I get this rush, as if the Universe is somehow alive and purposefull. I think that's the basic motivation behind rebellion, that true order is the rejection of order. In a civilization so violently preoccupied with establishing stable meanings, it takes an act of explicit rejection to discover this otherwise very basic and intuitive principle.