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Neal

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(no subject) [Aug. 16th, 2007|12:35 am]
Just a friendly reminder: I blog now, because livejournal kind of irritates me sometimes, whereas my own personal blog with tags and stuff does not.

You can find me at

http://lessthanpleased.blogspot.com/

Ciao.

-neal
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(no subject) [Jun. 14th, 2007|04:42 pm]
So, I have a blog now.  This is why I don't LJ.

You can go below to see me.

http://lessthanpleased.blogspot.com/

-neal
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(no subject) [Feb. 27th, 2007|05:23 pm]
So I didn't get Teach For America.

-neal
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(no subject) [Feb. 22nd, 2007|01:38 am]
I'm up too late, once again.  In two days I'll be back at home, seeing my mom.

As for the rest, blah.

But, in the same melancholy vein, why aren't people still gushing over Neko Case's last album Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, a year after its release?

I find out about Teach For America in one week.

-neal
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So about the anti-abortion chick who writes articles for The Reveille: [Feb. 15th, 2007|04:09 am]
I occassionally read Emily Byers' columns.  Sometimes, I look at her picture.  She's not my type, but cute nonetheless.

Regardless, when reading her columns and looking at her picture, I am filled with a compulsion to date her, convince her to fuck me, impregnate her, and talk her into having an abortion.  Just so that I could sleep better at night knowing that she's as big of a smallminded hypocrite as her articles suggest to me.

-neal
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(no subject) [Feb. 12th, 2007|09:05 pm]
All right, kids.

Tomorrow's the big day.  Teach For America final interview.  The day I intend to receive validation that I am a better man than Ricardo Malbrew. 

I'm ready to rock and roll.  I've got a five minute lesson plan, employment documentation, bad-ass letters of recommendation, and a pocket full of dreams.  Look out, children of tomorrow, your internet messiah is coming to be annointed with oils.

English, civics, free enterprise, and history will never be the same.  Down with heterosexism in public schols.  Down with the patriarchy of the arboreal tree of knowledge.  My power is rhisomatic, like my love for public education in America.

-neal
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(no subject) [Feb. 11th, 2007|02:45 pm]
The only thing more romantic than marriage is divorce.

-neal
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(no subject) [Jan. 7th, 2007|01:44 am]
I've sold my soul.

I just submitted my application for Teach For America.

Don't bother citing The Onion article.  I've almost got it memorized.

Well, I'm off to self-medicate and listen to The Cure's Disintegration.  Think about me when you achieve sexual release.

-neal
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(no subject) [Jan. 4th, 2007|09:14 pm]
http://www.wordcount.org/main.php

This website chronicles the frequency with which words are used in the English language.

Christianity's central message is true: life must necessarily be difficult and materialistically unrewarding to achieve spiritual happiness.

How do I know this, you ask? Easy. Word number 666? "Easy"

-neal
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Why I'm a bastard.... [Dec. 29th, 2006|04:37 am]
Whenever I read or hear someone yammering on about how happy they are, or how wonderful their life is, or how in love they are, or whatever, I find myself thinking about the third line of William Butler Yeats' poem The Second Coming.

"Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold."

And I laugh to myself.  Because the louder and longer someone talks about how perfect their life is, the more likely it is that the person in question is attempting to convince themselves far more than they are the person to whom they are speaking.

In other news, I got a pay raise at work.  Things are going great.  I'm so fucking happy.  My life is so wonderful.  I'm so completely in love.  I'm so whatever, you know?  And I couldn't be more ecstatic about it!

-neal
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(no subject) [Dec. 21st, 2006|02:48 am]
I finished another chunk of thesis writing, warts and all.  Parts of it are great, if I may say so myself, others notsomuch, but whatever.

It's up to 67 pages now, and I expect it to grow some more once I do the outstanding chapter that I haven't started on and the conclusion.

As for my mom, she's back at home with dad.  She has limited speech.  She can laugh, though.  She wants to see my kittens, which my cat had.  One of them has died, unfortunately, but mother nature is a harsh mistress.

-neal
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(no subject) [Dec. 20th, 2006|02:44 am]
This is probably the best article written on the fundamental problems with the "global war on terror," largely because it focuses on the fact that the American government is currently doing the research and green-lighting the research which will develop the ways in which a victory against the numerous and utterly regional groups of radical (and almost uniformly conservative in their fundamentalist views) jihadists.

Of particular note is the fact that these solutions are almost uniformly being proposed by an Australian anthropologist/sociologist and decorated Army lieutenant on loan to the American government for the specific purpose of finding a way to win in Iraq and around the world.

This is essential reading for anyone interested in politics, military history, and the dangers of conservative inertia to adapt to changing realities when the stakes are high.

http://www.newyorker.com/printables/fact...

-neal
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About to go to bed, bitterly incensed about politics.... [Dec. 13th, 2006|03:29 am]
Or, to be more precise, the prevalence of the term "Islamist" to describe fundamentalist, Jihadist Muslims.

I find the term to be monstrously offensive and disengenuous in the extreme, and instituted solely because American fundamentalist Christians didn't like that the Brown Bad "People" were just as fundamentalist in their beliefs are our own Abortion-clinic bombers.  So, rather than focus on the only question about their respective fundamentalisms that matters- vis a vis, discarding the question "Are we the same as the Muslims screaming for Jihad" in favor of the more important "Are we different enough from them to claim moral authority?"- the neoconservatives (particularly in the punditry class, as seen in Glenn Reynolds and his ilk) simply changed the words.

Militant fundamentalist Muslims was a bit too precise for them, you see, and it made people think messy thoughts.

So, instead, we got "Islamofascist" which failed, of course, because the punditry class was entirely ignorant of the necessary and sufficient conditions required to be extant to correctly ascribe the appellation "fascist" to a political/national ideology.  Saddened, they presented the following bright idea: "Islamist" was instituted to inhibit the free exchange of ideas about the war and the people waging it.  Islamists are people who use their religion to justify the way the world should work.  They want everything to be fundamentalist and all jihadist and stuff.

Christianist, by contrast, are good, godly people like us; we take hope in eternal truths and spread only love and charity EXCEPT when it comes time to preach love and charity towards rape victims, gays, lesbians, black people, brown people, and the doctors who work at the abortion clinics that get attacked.  They get a rare specie of love that saturates the phenomenon of love into something new and unthinkable; fortuitous, since this saturated phenomenon is in prinicple unknowable as all absolute bullshit should be.

So what I'm saying is, why are people so loathsome in their attempts to change words and meanings?  Pinter has some great theories on this, as do Foucault and Derrida.  But I guess what's pissing me off is that all of this transparent malarcky is an embarrassment to me as an American.

-neal
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(no subject) [Oct. 6th, 2006|02:18 am]
For those of you who haven't heard from me in a while, this is what's going on.

Mom's still in the hospital, but has begun to regain rudimentary speech.  Insurance runs out next week, and dad and I aren't sure what to do next.

I've been working like crazy at Champps, and not doing a whole lot else: aside from a few letters to the Reveille, of course, to make me feel better.

I'm going to the ECW wrestling show on Sunday with Skylar, Caitlin, and Rachel, and then am driving to my parents' house after the show.  There's a doctor consult on Monday that I have to be at.  Once I'm back in town, I'll finish the latest draft of thesis (very little left to do, honestly).  The doctor consult should give me the bit of closure/certainty I need to concentrate enough to finish newest draft. 

Aside from that, nothing else it going on. 

Which, of course, is kind of funny.  Because the above is more than enough to keep any sane person busy.

-neal

PS: I got elected Speaker Pro Tem of the SG Senate a couple of weeks ago, right when the mom stuff started.  It was highly amusing, given the number of betrayals and high amount of opposition to my election.  If rumours are true, I won the election not once but twice (the run-off was unnecessary).  Regardless, my opponents were not happy with me: when they tried to talk to me about the impending race, I laughed at them and told them that it would be better for both of them to talk about their support for my legislation after the election.  The quote was, "I've already counted the votes, and I've won this election before walking into the room.  Feel free to run against me and lose."  Responses were as follows: "That's fucked up," or, alternatively, jaws dropped.

Needless to say, the vote was closer than I thought it would be given a betrayal or two (unprecedented in scope, I might add), but nonetheless in my favor.

Sooner or later, people will begin to figure out that I'm always right about this sort of thing.  Just as I always win power struggles in Student Government.  Because, believe me, the futile power struggles after I won were laughable in their inefficacy.  I'm still in a position of responsibility, and all of my long-term goals for finishing up my tenure in SG as a reformer of the system itself are well on their way to success    ~n.
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(no subject) [Sep. 11th, 2006|02:12 am]
I'm getting back in the swing of things, and things are getting easier due to lack of proximity to the situation.  Still have feelings of depression and occassional dissociation.  Haven't been entirely productive or in the mindframe to be productive, but it's coming back because I'm forcing it to come back.

I have good friends who I'm truly thankful for, and who I wouldn't be making it through without the phone calls.

Have lots of thoughts, but will resist self-indulgent pseudophilosophy.  So, two notes instead: I'm now the Speaker Pro Tem of the LSU Student Government Senate, which made my week infinitely better. 

The second note is something that a girl wrote on a message board about love, creating a character for an RPG.  It's so good, I have to reprint it.

" Love.

Love is the greatest power in the universe.

My earliest memories of love were when I was six, back when my parents and I were living in Dads old VW van. You know, the one with all the flowers and peace signs painted on the hood? Not much room in those vans, and Dad loved Mom. Two, maybe three times a day. Beyond that and smoking weed, Dad wasn’t good at much. I guess if you have a talent, you might as well take pride in it. I know I did.

It was hardest back in elementary school, back in the 80’s. How’s a girl supposed to be taken seriously with a name like “Brianna Windsong?” God damn filthy hippy parents. I had rags from Goodwill, when my friends had clean clothes. I was stuck in the front seat of that rusting old VW while my friends had an actual house to go home to.

That all changed when I met Phillip. Mr. Phillip was the most popular math teacher in our Junior High. He loved me. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me. He saw me, not some filthy little girl living with two equally filthy hippy parents. He always used to tell me how much he loved me after school. For the first time in my life, I felt the strength of that love, filling me up like an empty vase is filled with water. He… showed me… the power of love. Even though he was married, and I was only 14. That was how much he loved me.

They said he and his wife died in a “bizarre murder-suicide.” I know the truth. He loved me. Loved me so much that he was willing to ruin his life for me. Loved me so much that he was willing to kill for me. Loved me so much that he was willing to die for me.

That is the power of Love. The power to make people do things you want. The power to crush relationships like so much pure white china in my hands. The more they love me, rather than their Wife, even life itself, the more power I have.

I’ll be going to college next year. The girls in school tell me stories of their boyfriends who are already in college. The girls are always talking about how much their boyfriends love them. They keep calling me a 'homewrecker,' like any of them actually have a home.

I think I am going to love it in college."
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(no subject) [Sep. 2nd, 2006|12:58 am]
For those of you wondering about my mom, here's the news:

She's half brain dead according to her doctors, and won't be able to fully recover.  She can drink from a straw now, but can't talk and may never talk again.  She also can't move the right side of her body.

Dad asked me to stay in Baton Rouge and just work as much as possible, and life has kind of drug to a halt.

Also, ran into my ex-girlfriend Katie today.  Apparently she's married now.  And has been for three months.  Which means she married some guy two months after we broke up. 

Obviously, lots of lies were told to me.

Overall, not a good couple of days.  Although the last two nights have been good.

-neal
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(no subject) [Aug. 29th, 2006|01:36 pm]
For those wondering where I am.

My mom is in the hospital again; massive stroke, currently one half of her body can't move.  The doctors are doing some ultrasounds and stuff today to figure out what's going on and what they can do. 

I'll be out of the loop for at least a day or two.

-neal
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(no subject) [Aug. 19th, 2006|01:42 am]
Okay, I've totally decided that the best use of thirty dollars of my loan check is to get a T-Shirt.

It's sold by Parris McBride, the girlfriend of my favorite author, George R. R. Martin.

The shirt is a black tee with the coat of arms of House Greyjoy on it: since only Wendy Morril knows what the fuck I'm talking about, I'll describe it.  It's a bad-ass kraken with the words "We Do Not Sow" written in the heraldry.

I thought I was pregnant when I saw it.

-neal
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(no subject) [Aug. 18th, 2006|02:14 am]
I've written a good chunk of thesis, so my reward is that I get to blog.

So, about a week ago I got a copy of Jay-Z's Unplugged In New York from the early part of this decade, and I'm blown out of the fucking water.  For those of you who aren't fans of Jay-Z, please believe me that I understand exactly why: he's arrogant, over-rated, and played out like a motherfucker.  Sed Contra, however, his unplugged album is like taking a lightning bolt and re-animating a fucking corpse.  First of all, his back-up band is The motherfucking Roots, and for the uninitiated, The Roots are arguably the most talented band in either rap or rock and roll if for no other reason than ?uestlove (in my book the best drummer in music).  A song that I thought would be impossible to do without Kanye West's production, Takeover, is rendered even more majestic with The Roots providing live music and a gospel choir adding a sense of sublimeness to the utterly trite battle rap bullshit between Jay-Z, Mobb Deep, and Nas.  For the first time, I believe that Jay-Z might actually be the real king of New York.

And then I reflect on the fact that, were Nas given the same opportunity by MTV, he'd sound every inch as good.

Speaking of The Roots, if you're a rock and roll or hip hop fan and haven't heard "The Seed (2.0)" then you need to get on iTunes and correct that fact.  That song is mad sexy, and the drumming is everything drumming ought to be.

In other notes, Outkast's new album, Idlewild, is quite good.  I don't know if I'd call it great, but it gets an A for innovation: I didn't think it'd be possible to combine hip hop, rap, swing, and jazz into a cohesive whole, but they did it.  "Call The Law" will be a bigger hit than "Hey Ya" if they have the balls to release it as a single.  And, contrary to Mr. Gremillion's opinion, anyone who's listened to a great deal of Billie Holiday, Etta James, or (alternatively) some of the more obscure black female vocalists from the twenties or thirties will nigh-immediately like Janelle Monae's performance or, at the very least, figure out why she's not a dime a dozen female vocalist.  For the curious, the song is quite strange: it starts with a few bars of rapping, proceeds for several minutes to be a jazz number: it's pushed forward by a pretty simple rap bass line, and then combined with jazz piano that is largely restrained until a drummer kicks in, when both go crazy.  Andre 3000 raps for a minute or so, and then the song becomes a strange fusion of upbeat lounge fare and gospel.  As strange as all of that sounds, the result is a song that has all of the pop sensibility of a top twenty hit with the retro fidelity of a song that's most at home on the soundtrack to Woody Allen's Sweet & Lodown (an awesome album in its own right, by the way). 

But, then again, I hear that Christina Aguilera's new album is fucking brilliant as well.  But she's always been an exceptional singer.  Rolling Stone claims that 2/3's of it are the best big-band influenced album they've heard in a long time.  Since it's a two discer, I'll probably get a copy of it: ten or so really good songs written with a critical eye aimed at one of my favorite musical time periods is okay in my book.

I've gotten a lot smarter about music and what makes it work since I got obsessed with classical music: I swear to God, a year-long study of Bach will teach you fucking structure and melody.

***************

Oh, I got promoted at work.  I'm now the DJ.  Champps is about to have good fucking music.  With like, discernable beats, catchy melodies, and the kind of music that cool college students listen to (you know, the music one of our restaurant's fucking demographics listens to?).  What does that mean, you ask?  $10 an hour and blowjobs on demand. 

Okay, I lied about one of those two things.

But seriously, I emitted MAJOR sex radiation tonight while writing.  If the number of births in Baton Rouge goes up in about nine months, it's because my mojo was off the fucking hook.  They even felt it at Champps. 

-neal
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(no subject) [Aug. 14th, 2006|05:03 pm]
Investigative Journalist breaks story: US gave Israel green light to bomb Lebanon as a prelude to invade Iran. 

My country's anti-Arabism shouldn't shock me anymore, but it still does every time a story like this comes out.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/israel/Story/0,,1844021,00.html
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(no subject) [Aug. 12th, 2006|04:58 pm]
I fucking cried when I read this story.  It's short, so read the whole thing.

http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/13.04/robot.html?pg=1&topic=robot&topic_set=

Matt Bankston, a movie script about this story is a license to print money and you fucking know it.  I summon you.

-neal
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(no subject) [Aug. 11th, 2006|08:36 pm]
I told Joe about a month ago that I'd post weird things that are fun on a regular basis.  Because I am a Bad Man, I have not done this.  I offer the following as repayment.

"You know what humor is? It's magic. Dangerous magic. Laughter is used to banish evil from the world. But it's also addictive.

In old times, people were afraid of dragons and monsters. Then people started laughing at them, and they disappeared, and now even those old jokes are forgotten. Later, jesters wore colorful costumes and danced like faeries, and now the faeries are gone.

Now the creatures of myth are dead, transformed into long-forgotten jokes and stories, but we still want the laughter. We can't give up the power to turn something scary and dangerous into something funny.

So we laugh at the pain and disease and death of the world. And it seems to be working, a little bit. We don't live in a utopia, but people are more prosperous and healthy than ever before. People often reach 100 years of age.

But where does it stop? Listen to the comedians of today. They are getting us to laugh at ourselves. At relationships. At cars. At work. At the language. At the little bags of peanuts we get on airplanes.

At life."
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(no subject) [Aug. 10th, 2006|02:07 am]
So how fucked up is it that I refer to most of the directors in Baton Rouge as "Salieri's" in my head?

-neal
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(no subject) [Aug. 8th, 2006|03:23 am]
There is a fucking Borat movie!!!!!!!!!!!  And it's opening in the Fall!!!!!!!!!!!!

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2089-2300576,00.html

This gave me the vapors I was laughing so hard:

"In the film — during which the main character becomes overwhelmed by a desire to marry Pamela Anderson, the former Baywatch star — Borat goes to buy a car and asks a dealer whether a Humvee would be suitable for running over gypsies.

In another scene Borat insists on driving to California, instead of flying, 'in case the Jews repeat their attack of 9/11'. In another scene, Baron Cohen, who is himself Jewish, is shown spitting out food given to him by the Jewish owners of a bed-and-breakfast because he believes it may be poisoned. He tells Alan Keyes, a black presidential candidate, he has a 'chocolate face'.

While Kazakhstan may be the butt of Borat’s jokes, his interviewees often come off even worse, lured into betraying extreme or idiotic views. In one scene Borat is at a rodeo discussing homosexuals with an older man in rancher-style clothes, and says: 'They hang ’em in our country.' The man replies: 'That’s what we’re trying to do here.'"

For those who are curious or greatly offended, Sasha Cohen- the man who plays Borat- is a British Jew who uses the character to explore the limits of anti-semitism in contemporary society.  If it's offensive, it's usually because Cohen is holding up a mirror to the offensive world we live in.

-neal

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(no subject) [Jul. 30th, 2006|01:55 am]
Warren Ellis posted this on his myspace regarding where his ideas come from and what it feels like to write, and I think it adequately sums up why I occassionally disappear when writing.  It also explains why writer's block on the thesis is so fucking devastating when it hit(s).

"I still get asked with appalling regularity 'where my ideas come from.'

Here's the deal. I flood my poor ageing head with information. Any information. Lots of it. And I let it all slosh around in the back of my brain, in the part normal people use for remembering bills, thinking about sex and making appointments to wash the dishes.

Eventually, you get a critical mass of information. Datum 1 plugs into Datum 3 which connects to Datum 3 and Data 4 and 5 stick to it and you've got a chain reaction. A bunch of stuff knits together and lights up and you've got what's called 'an idea'.

And for that brief moment where it's all flaring and welding together, you are Holy. You can't be touched. Something impossible and brilliant has happened and suddenly you understand what it would be like if Einstein's brain was placed into the body of a young tyrannosaur, stuffed full of amphetamines and suffused with Sex Radiation.

That is what has happened to me tonight. I am beaming Sex Rays across the world and my brain is all lit up with Holy Fire. If I felt like it, I could shag a million nuns and destroy their faith in Christ.

From my chair.

See, this is the good bit about writing. It's what keeps you going. It's the wild rush of 'shit, did I think of that?' with all kinds of weird chemicals shunting around your brain and ideas and images and moments and storyforms all opening up snapsnapsnap in your mind, a mass of new and unrealised possibilities.

It's ten past two in the morning, and I'm completely wired, caught up in the new thing, shivering and laughing and glowing in the dark. Just as well it's the middle of the night. No-one would be safe from me right now. I could read their minds and take over their heartbeats with a glare.

Faster than the speed of anyone.

That's how it works."
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(no subject) [Jul. 27th, 2006|01:35 am]
http://www.theonion.com/content/node/50902

Read the whole fucking thing.  I guarantee you that you'll laugh at least once.

-neal
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Since I seek to illuminate, I offer a few Umberto Eco quotes.... [Jul. 23rd, 2006|11:20 pm]
"When all the archetypes burst out shamelessly, we plumb the depths of Homeric profundity. Two cliches make us laugh but a hundred cliches moves us because we sense dimly that the cliches are talking among themselves, celebrating a reunion . . . Just as the extreme of pain meets sensual pleasure, and the extreme of perversion borders on mystical energy, so too the extreme of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the Sublime."
-- "Casablanca: Cult Movies and Intertextual Collage" (1984) from Travels in Hyperreality

"Lying about the future produces history."
-- Interview, Fast Company, October 2002

"You cannot believe what you are saying."
"Well, no. Hardly ever. But the philosopher is like the poet. The latter composes ideal letters for an ideal nymph, only to plumb with his words the depths of passion. The philosopher tests the coldness of his gaze, to see how far he can undermine the fortress of bigotry."
-- The Island of the Day Before, Chapter 8

"The pleasures of love are pains that become desirable, where sweetness and torment blend, and so love is voluntary insanity, infernal paradise, and celestial hell -- in short, harmony of opposite yearnings, sorrowful laughter, soft diamond."
-- The Island of the Day Before, Chapter 28

"Time is an eternity that stammers."
-- Baudolino, Chapter 33

"I have never doubted the truth of signs, Adso; they are the only things man has with which to orient himself in the world. What I did not understand is the relation among signs . . . I behaved stubbornly, pursuing a semblance of order, when I should have known well that there is no order in the universe."
"But in imagining an erroneous order you still found something. . . ."
"What you say is very fine, Adso, and I thank you. The order that our mind imagines is like a net, or like a ladder, built to attain something. But afterward you must throw the ladder away, because you discover that, even if it was useful, it was meaningless . . . The only truths that are useful are instruments to be thrown away."
-- The Name of the Rose, Seventh Day, Night

"I have never doubted the truth of signs, Adso; they are the only things man has with which to orient himself in the world. What I did not understand is the relation among signs . . . I behaved stubbornly, pursuing a semblance of order, when I should have known well that there is no order in the universe."
"But in imagining an erroneous order you still found something. . . ."
"What you say is very fine, Adso, and I thank you. The order that our mind imagines is like a net, or like a ladder, built to attain something. But afterward you must throw the ladder away, because you discover that, even if it was useful, it was meaningless . . . The only truths that are useful are instruments to be thrown away."
-- The Name of the Rose, Seventh Day, Night

I post these on livejournal because I occassionally like to look back at livejournal, or use it as a resource for things that seemed incredibly important to me at the time.  Thus, I have a one-stop resource for cool things and memories, which is the point of keeping a journal in the firstplace. 

I like to fill this journal with things that seem truthful to me, with recollections that seem truthful and meaningful.  That doesn't mean I say true things, though, or that I'm faithful to some sort of objective truth.  The omissions are often what strike the memory chord for me.

I say the above because I have new readers (Hey, Brittany!) and sometimes looking at this thing and trying to make sense of the traces I leave behind results in nothing short of entropy.

-neal
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Re: Thesis Research [Jul. 23rd, 2006|08:27 pm]
This is largely a message for He Who Must Not Be Named, He Who Occassionally Reads My Livejournal and Dispenses Thesis Advice for Me Without the Petty Bourgeoise Sentiment of Telephones, The Untenured One, The Pillar of Islam Made Manifest Before the Gazes of Gods and Monsters, He Who Holds the Devil In His Pocket.

In doing tangential research for a part of thesis- namely, a defense of the rather intuitive claim that certain postmodern interpretations of works of art are incredibly stupid, trivial, and self-evidently false, and that all interpretations are not valid due to textual insupportability- I came across a coup de grace: Umberto Eco's "The Author and his Interpretors."  It uses Popper-like methodology to discern whether or not an interpretation of a given work of art is blatantly incorrect; this methodology renders gradations between good interpretations of works of art slightly elusive.

Eco manages to redefine the end-result of Peircian unlimited semiosis, which, rather than supporting the rather ridiculous assertion that there are unlimited interpretations, proceeds with the idea that unlimited semiosis is systemic rather than analytical.  That, furthermore, while the number of systems may be unlimited, the usage of a system imposes finitude upon the ways in which a work can and should be read; this is further rarefied by the fact that a work of art- or, in Eco's example par excellence, the novel- reduces the range of possible linguistic items by its lack of abritrariness.  Thus, even if the author does not intend to impose limitations, linguistic structure itself from grammar upwards imposes or delineates given interpretations.

The link to the plain text version can be found here for free: http://www.themodernword.com/eco/eco_author.html

This was originally gonna be fleshing out a footnote, but I suspect I could get a page or two out of the defense; given that Eco comments on it extensively in this and other documents, perhaps consigning this to a footnote is a bit premature given the amount of ink wasted in art criticism journals on Reader Response Theory and other things which make my dick limp.

Thoughts, O Great One?  Or anyone else, I suppose.

-neal
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(no subject) [Jul. 22nd, 2006|10:57 pm]
3941

When will this madness end?  How much more must we sacrifice?

-neal

PS: For those who are curious, this is not about the War in Iraq.
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(no subject) [Jul. 22nd, 2006|02:27 am]
Okay, one last thing before I go to sleep.

http://www.themodernword.com/eco/eco_blackshirt.html

You know that if I'm posting it, it's worth reading.

-neal
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