Entry X--Block
christianity hates life.
christianity hates life because it is frustrating and finite. Imperfect and incomplete.
christianity promises a reward of everlasting existence (although apparently, in a realm of non-existence).
Life everlasting is a lot of time to kill, a lot of time to fill, even for angels.
Hanging out afloat a cloud must get old at some point, and eventually you're going to learn how to play that damn harp along with every song ever written.
Course, most would say I needn't worry about such things as heaven.
No, I'll be facing eternal damnation along with the requisite torture and punishment.
And the Lake of Fire!
I'd wade in the Lake of Fire and see how much skin I could burn off till I screamed.
I'd make a game of it. Every day I'd try to hold out a little bit longer and see if another minute--or even a second--could elapse before I let out a scream. So long as I went a little bit longer each day.
But mostly, christianity hates life because life fulfills its promise. christianity always has to break its promises.
Life doesn't cheat, though one may certainly be cheated of life. By christianity...
Should I 'save' or 'delete?'
I'm asking you...
Extremely tempted to wipe the above mess off of my hard drive forever.
Yet, there may be a kernel of gold in that horse dung I can extract and later polish up.
But can't escape my disgust over the way I hopped-skipped-jumped from tone to tone (gothic severity to sarcasm). There's no connecting thread, no theme, no consistency.
At first, it's going good, I'm all about christianity and the hatred of life (which is the central theme of this essay, the opener of Bye Bull) but then I immediately get off-topic, rambling on about myself and how much pain I could take in the Lake of Fire.
Then--boom! I'm back to the hatred of life as a general concept.
Yuck.
And while my intended stream of consciousness is nothing more than a polluted, stagnant swamp, the important thing is just to write.
That’s what they always say, anyway.
But this isn’t the same bullshit when I was just writing in my spare time and sending in journals with the hope they’d be published somewhere by someone.
This is a book. I have a deadline.
Besides, these essays have to be superior to anything I’ve ever written. My previous stuff was read by maybe a few thousand readers of a given zine tops, usually far less than that.
Ms. Cabal intends for this book to be big.
She actually thinks this book can sell
Which means I can’t write small.
Not that I had intended to.
Still have 13 days till I meet with Ms. Cabal, but I sure as shit am not about to show her the above and potentially deleted.
I need a a break; outside, get away from this stuffy apartment and the monitor's dull glow.
Stocked up on groceries for at least a month, but I could use a fresh burrito and some Bay breeze kissing my face.
Man, it's nice to dig into my pocket and find a fresh $20 there instead of lint.
Have barely spent any of the “donation” Ms. Cabal provided, except I did pay off a month’s rent in advance.
I’m sober and saving money.
Wish I had the other thing down, though—actually writing a decent draft of an essay.
Also hanging over my head is the outline of the entire fucking book Ms. Cabal's expecting.
Haven’t the foggiest how that will go, and I don’t want to really even think about coming up with that right now.
Just worry about the essay draft. I know what I wanna write about, just don't know how to express it.
Classic case of block.
And I know Ms Cabal’s not looking for perfection--just a first draft, but it’s not coming as easily as I thought it would.
Like it did the night of the hash fantasy, where I kneeled before Ms. Cabal.
Still kneeling before her, and I’m supposed to be writing, but it’s all metaphorical now. It was so flesh-and-blood real to me that night.
Could use that fantasy right about now, to provide some…inspiration.
Or maybe something else could offer it. Part of me wonders if there's any hash left in that closet. Memories of that night are hazy at best. Think I smoked the whole ball.
Besides, I'm not going to be able to write an entire book in 3 months with artificial enhancements. It won't sustain. Have to get into a writing rhythm and do it organically.
But since creating anything is both that and perspiration, I’m just going to write and write until I come up with something good enough to show her.
It’s just that it's so fucking dry.
And dry is something I definitely don’t want this book to be. In metaphorical terms, I don’t want the reader to be wandering in the midst of an arid desert, thirstily searching for something, anything that's going to interest her/him.
Actually, I don’t want to just satiate the reader, I want her/him to feel as though she/he just capsized off a ship, with giant tidal waves of insight pouring overhead. Want to drown he reader.
But what I have so far, just a half a page of scribbled lines, it’s is more like a puddle.
Been so long since I’ve really written (in the true sense of the word), it’s hard to stoke those old fires that used to burn on autopilot.
No rational reason why those fires shouldn’t be stoked, though--here I've been given the chance to live my dream. Being paid to write an actual book. And not just write any book, but the definitive critique of christianity for the new millennium.
In the back of my mind, however, am still convinced I’m doing this out of lust for Ms. Cabal.
And much as I hate to admit it, I’d rather be in bed with her right now, either fucking her or sucking on her toes, rather than sitting in front of this computer screen that's a mirror for my inadequacies.
But the only way I’m going to get close to her, to win her favor is to write the book she wants.
Want to get to the top of the stairs, but I won’t take the first step.
It's symbolically fitting that I'm actually walking downstairs, to take that walk.
But first, have one more decision to make…
Decide to save what I wrote; there might be a nugget of some idea worth exploring that isn't just fool's gold.
Either that or it’ll serve as a reminder of the humble beginnings this, eventually, great book came from.
Something to laugh about later and ask myself "What was I thinking?"
Or, this essay could start this way:
You’re reading a book that shouldn’t have to be written.
Certainly not after 2000 years.
This book should be positive and uplifting—which for some, it probably is, but it has to be sharply critical of a system that has persisted in holding back the culture on so many levels it boggles the mind.
Once one accepts that there is no afterlife, that the purpose of life is to be found in life, then it can also be accepted that each of our lives is but a very temporary existence, and that the purpose of life is to simultaneously enjoy it and progress the culture forward, to have a hand in that progress.
Future generations will scoff at christianity, why would anyone want to be scoffed at one day?
christianity will be relegated to the status of mythology.
That’s all I got for the essay on 'christianity in the future.' (Ugh, even that title sounds like some kinda corny sci-fi angle).
But just like the 'hatred of life' essay, this too is too disjointed. There's no flow; thought I had a little something going there, but instead of properly developing the idea, I just come up with another declaration (“christianity will be relegated to the status of mythology”).
Got to express these issues with more detail, break it down to its essential argument, not just offer a related opinion.
And that’s another thing, can’t waste time and energy working on two essay drafts at once. At least not now, with Ms. Cabal looming in just nine days.
Got to decide on one topic, the strongest topic, and just work on that.
But I’m no closer to coming up with the ‘strongest topic’ than I am at writing a cohesive first draft on either topic...
Time to panic yet?
Only four more days until I meet Ms. Cabal.
Still having zero success at pulling off an essay draft, so I may as start shaping the outline. I think that’s what Ms. Cabal is most interested in, anyway.
Don't think she'd appreciate me assuming that, but I don't have time to worry about what she'd appreciate or not, just got to get this fucking thing done.
First essay—Theme: christianity and the future of America. Working title: None
My thinking here is to grab the readers with material that could be relevant to their lives, or at least, current events in their lives and besides, isn't it kind of cliched to end the book with a look at the future?
I'm trying to give readers something they haven't seen before.
Second essay—Theme: Faith Working title: The Wind.
Definitely going to have to address the issue of faith, so it may as well come early in the book, right?
Seriously considering describing faith in metaphorical terms, like it’s the wind; something that can’t be seen, but you can feel it. In doing so, I'd turn the tables on the argument christians use to justify belief in a god they never see nor hear (they typically say they know god is real in the same way they can 'feel' a breeze/wind they cannot see).
It's shocking how many people buy into that line of reasoning. Of course, that argument conveniently neglects to mention that “feeling” the wind is still a sensory perception, just like sight and hearing. Comparing it to some kind of meta-conscious awareness of a deity is irrational).
Yet at the same time, my metaphor is an admission, conceding that faith can never really be beaten externally, it has to be relinquished from within, by the person who has faith.
One can’t stop the wind, only shield one’s self from it. The wind only dies out when the wind dies out. A christian can only lose her/his faith is she/he decides to no longer believe, to no longer be faithful.
Maybe I should title it, “The Wind Dies Out” But as metaphors go, the wind isn’t very exciting. Not sure how Ms. Cabal will react to it.
Third essay—Theme: christianity represents the hatred of life Working title: None
Another issue that must be addressed, one of the central foundations of my argument against christianity. Need to find a way to make it run deep, not just some tirade against the death-symbolism of christianity, which is an obvious position. Got to get into the ramifications of that symbolism. Also, this is a subject I have written on before, so I have to be careful not to repeat myself. Must constantly reveal new truths throughout this process, rehashing ideas would be the easy way out.
Fourth essay—Women and christianity Working title: None
This is a dichotomy I’ve always wanted to confront in an essay. Did actually write about this once, many years ago, but never sold it.
The unique thing about this essay will be that it just doesn't portray women as the victim to big bad patriarchal christianity; rather it challenges females; why do they support an institution like christianity so opposed to their freedom and self-governing of their own bodies. It is just because they seek eternal salvation or is it something more?
If women didn't use the church as a social outlet to keep friends and family connected would it have such a grip on the culture at large?
And...that’s all I got. Hardly an outline, it probably should be called an outline of the outline.
Can’t settle for this, though, Ms. Cabal’s expecting a complete outline, even if it’s not perfect.
Need a coherent structure that flows from first essay to last, but it's not coming to me.
Just have to dig a little deeper, that’s all.
Gotta wrack my brain and come up with all the topics I want to cover in the course of this book.
Got the basics out of the way, the heavy hitting topics. Now I’ve got round it out.
Somehow I want the first and last essay to be linked…in some way. But right now I don’t have a clue how to conclude it, nor how to link them.
Nothing is coming to me
It’s like the pressure of writing for Ms. Cabal has built a wall around my mind and no new ideas can creep in, just when I need them most.
Get up from the chair, away from the PC, sick of the blank whiteness of the screen coming over me.
Need another vision, goddammit.
Maybe I need to bring one on.
But don’t have any booze or drugs.
Could whack off, but that’ll make me sleepy and/or hungry and I don’t need that right now.
Besides, how intellectually useful could an orgasm be?
I need to stay on edge, not get relaxed.
Or do I…?
What about…meditation?
Never had tried it.
Least not with any sincerity. There was that one girl I was seeing, seven or eight years ago, and she was into meditation and tried to get me into it, and I went along with it for a couple session just because she was good in bed.
Heart was never into it so I didn’t get anything out of it, which is generally the case.
Heart wasn’t into her for that matter, so she let me go soon after those couple of weekends at the local yoga studio where I pretended to care.
But if I just sit there and empty my head, which is what it’s running on anyway, maybe a vision or an idea will spring up, pop in my head, overtake me.
Throw a spare blanket from my closet down on the some free space on my floor and plop down on it.
Sit arched on my butt, with my legs folded in the good ol’ Lotus Position, legs crossed with left foot on right thigh and right foot on left thigh.
Close my eyes, and try to think of absolutely nothing.
But that doesn’t seem possible…because something always pops into my head.
Some ...thought--like that one.
To truly think of nothing, I’ve got to lose the awareness that I’m thinking of nothing, because that awareness triggers thoughts of…not thinking about anything.
A vicious circle.
Suppose that’s why chanting or a mantra is used in meditation, to distract one’s self from thoughts and awareness.
At least, that’s my cynical take on chanting, which ain’t really for me.
I could fancy a mantra though:
christ is dead
christ is dead
christ is dead...
Instead of driving the thoughts out, decide to concentrate intensely on any thought that enters my mind…
But the only thought I can snatch out of thick air is the one where I realize I don’t have enough ideas for my book.
It's hounding me, haunting me.
Seems like all my inspiration/visions came about either when I was in a different setting (Snob Hill, the strobe lights at the Lab, the church), or, when I had a different mind-set, from the hash or from the news of the FOC bombing or jerking off to thoughts of Ms. Cabal.
They sure didn’t happen with me just sitting in my apartment, thinking about...nothing, waiting around for a 'vision' like I’m some desperate christian staring at some danish in New York City trying to find jesus' face in the nooks and crannies of a breakfast snack.
Feel like a first-class schmuckola doing this, so I get up, shake off the blanket and get back in front of my computer, where I belong.
If I sat on that floor any longer, I would’ve had to bust out a sitar and some incense.
Got to sit here and come up with a semi-legitimate list of topics for essay subjects. Fuck ‘em if they aren’t unified or this essay doesn’t relate to that one, just get something down on paper.
Ms. Cabal will probably rip it to shreds no matter what I come up with anyway, but at least there’s gotta be some meat on that bone I toss her.
In two days, after our meeting I’ll obviously a better idea of what she’s looking for.
Will include an essay on the right-wing christian conspiracy theories (not all of them, of course, that could be a whole book onto itself).
Not sure how appropriate it is, but fuck it--I needed something, and nothing's coming to me. Classic block syndrome.
Dealing with conspiracies is always dicey, especially if we're trying to appeal to a wider audience, which Ms. Cabal gives me every impression she wants to.
Know a way around it, I reckon. Won’t endorse these theories, but will present them objectively and their possible implications if any proved to be true.
That way, I don't commit to anything that could come back later to bite me on the ass. What I may buy into, while intellectually honest on my part, is not what's necessarily going in the book.
christianity hates life because it is frustrating and finite. Imperfect and incomplete.
christianity promises a reward of everlasting existence (although apparently, in a realm of non-existence).
Life everlasting is a lot of time to kill, a lot of time to fill, even for angels.
Hanging out afloat a cloud must get old at some point, and eventually you're going to learn how to play that damn harp along with every song ever written.
Course, most would say I needn't worry about such things as heaven.
No, I'll be facing eternal damnation along with the requisite torture and punishment.
And the Lake of Fire!
I'd wade in the Lake of Fire and see how much skin I could burn off till I screamed.
I'd make a game of it. Every day I'd try to hold out a little bit longer and see if another minute--or even a second--could elapse before I let out a scream. So long as I went a little bit longer each day.
But mostly, christianity hates life because life fulfills its promise. christianity always has to break its promises.
Life doesn't cheat, though one may certainly be cheated of life. By christianity...
Should I 'save' or 'delete?'
I'm asking you...
Extremely tempted to wipe the above mess off of my hard drive forever.
Yet, there may be a kernel of gold in that horse dung I can extract and later polish up.
But can't escape my disgust over the way I hopped-skipped-jumped from tone to tone (gothic severity to sarcasm). There's no connecting thread, no theme, no consistency.
At first, it's going good, I'm all about christianity and the hatred of life (which is the central theme of this essay, the opener of Bye Bull) but then I immediately get off-topic, rambling on about myself and how much pain I could take in the Lake of Fire.
Then--boom! I'm back to the hatred of life as a general concept.
Yuck.
And while my intended stream of consciousness is nothing more than a polluted, stagnant swamp, the important thing is just to write.
That’s what they always say, anyway.
But this isn’t the same bullshit when I was just writing in my spare time and sending in journals with the hope they’d be published somewhere by someone.
This is a book. I have a deadline.
Besides, these essays have to be superior to anything I’ve ever written. My previous stuff was read by maybe a few thousand readers of a given zine tops, usually far less than that.
Ms. Cabal intends for this book to be big.
She actually thinks this book can sell
Which means I can’t write small.
Not that I had intended to.
Still have 13 days till I meet with Ms. Cabal, but I sure as shit am not about to show her the above and potentially deleted.
I need a a break; outside, get away from this stuffy apartment and the monitor's dull glow.
Stocked up on groceries for at least a month, but I could use a fresh burrito and some Bay breeze kissing my face.
Man, it's nice to dig into my pocket and find a fresh $20 there instead of lint.
Have barely spent any of the “donation” Ms. Cabal provided, except I did pay off a month’s rent in advance.
I’m sober and saving money.
Wish I had the other thing down, though—actually writing a decent draft of an essay.
Also hanging over my head is the outline of the entire fucking book Ms. Cabal's expecting.
Haven’t the foggiest how that will go, and I don’t want to really even think about coming up with that right now.
Just worry about the essay draft. I know what I wanna write about, just don't know how to express it.
Classic case of block.
And I know Ms Cabal’s not looking for perfection--just a first draft, but it’s not coming as easily as I thought it would.
Like it did the night of the hash fantasy, where I kneeled before Ms. Cabal.
Still kneeling before her, and I’m supposed to be writing, but it’s all metaphorical now. It was so flesh-and-blood real to me that night.
Could use that fantasy right about now, to provide some…inspiration.
Or maybe something else could offer it. Part of me wonders if there's any hash left in that closet. Memories of that night are hazy at best. Think I smoked the whole ball.
Besides, I'm not going to be able to write an entire book in 3 months with artificial enhancements. It won't sustain. Have to get into a writing rhythm and do it organically.
But since creating anything is both that and perspiration, I’m just going to write and write until I come up with something good enough to show her.
It’s just that it's so fucking dry.
And dry is something I definitely don’t want this book to be. In metaphorical terms, I don’t want the reader to be wandering in the midst of an arid desert, thirstily searching for something, anything that's going to interest her/him.
Actually, I don’t want to just satiate the reader, I want her/him to feel as though she/he just capsized off a ship, with giant tidal waves of insight pouring overhead. Want to drown he reader.
But what I have so far, just a half a page of scribbled lines, it’s is more like a puddle.
Been so long since I’ve really written (in the true sense of the word), it’s hard to stoke those old fires that used to burn on autopilot.
No rational reason why those fires shouldn’t be stoked, though--here I've been given the chance to live my dream. Being paid to write an actual book. And not just write any book, but the definitive critique of christianity for the new millennium.
In the back of my mind, however, am still convinced I’m doing this out of lust for Ms. Cabal.
And much as I hate to admit it, I’d rather be in bed with her right now, either fucking her or sucking on her toes, rather than sitting in front of this computer screen that's a mirror for my inadequacies.
But the only way I’m going to get close to her, to win her favor is to write the book she wants.
Want to get to the top of the stairs, but I won’t take the first step.
It's symbolically fitting that I'm actually walking downstairs, to take that walk.
But first, have one more decision to make…
Decide to save what I wrote; there might be a nugget of some idea worth exploring that isn't just fool's gold.
Either that or it’ll serve as a reminder of the humble beginnings this, eventually, great book came from.
Something to laugh about later and ask myself "What was I thinking?"
Or, this essay could start this way:
You’re reading a book that shouldn’t have to be written.
Certainly not after 2000 years.
This book should be positive and uplifting—which for some, it probably is, but it has to be sharply critical of a system that has persisted in holding back the culture on so many levels it boggles the mind.
Once one accepts that there is no afterlife, that the purpose of life is to be found in life, then it can also be accepted that each of our lives is but a very temporary existence, and that the purpose of life is to simultaneously enjoy it and progress the culture forward, to have a hand in that progress.
Future generations will scoff at christianity, why would anyone want to be scoffed at one day?
christianity will be relegated to the status of mythology.
That’s all I got for the essay on 'christianity in the future.' (Ugh, even that title sounds like some kinda corny sci-fi angle).
But just like the 'hatred of life' essay, this too is too disjointed. There's no flow; thought I had a little something going there, but instead of properly developing the idea, I just come up with another declaration (“christianity will be relegated to the status of mythology”).
Got to express these issues with more detail, break it down to its essential argument, not just offer a related opinion.
And that’s another thing, can’t waste time and energy working on two essay drafts at once. At least not now, with Ms. Cabal looming in just nine days.
Got to decide on one topic, the strongest topic, and just work on that.
But I’m no closer to coming up with the ‘strongest topic’ than I am at writing a cohesive first draft on either topic...
Time to panic yet?
Only four more days until I meet Ms. Cabal.
Still having zero success at pulling off an essay draft, so I may as start shaping the outline. I think that’s what Ms. Cabal is most interested in, anyway.
Don't think she'd appreciate me assuming that, but I don't have time to worry about what she'd appreciate or not, just got to get this fucking thing done.
First essay—Theme: christianity and the future of America. Working title: None
My thinking here is to grab the readers with material that could be relevant to their lives, or at least, current events in their lives and besides, isn't it kind of cliched to end the book with a look at the future?
I'm trying to give readers something they haven't seen before.
Second essay—Theme: Faith Working title: The Wind.
Definitely going to have to address the issue of faith, so it may as well come early in the book, right?
Seriously considering describing faith in metaphorical terms, like it’s the wind; something that can’t be seen, but you can feel it. In doing so, I'd turn the tables on the argument christians use to justify belief in a god they never see nor hear (they typically say they know god is real in the same way they can 'feel' a breeze/wind they cannot see).
It's shocking how many people buy into that line of reasoning. Of course, that argument conveniently neglects to mention that “feeling” the wind is still a sensory perception, just like sight and hearing. Comparing it to some kind of meta-conscious awareness of a deity is irrational).
Yet at the same time, my metaphor is an admission, conceding that faith can never really be beaten externally, it has to be relinquished from within, by the person who has faith.
One can’t stop the wind, only shield one’s self from it. The wind only dies out when the wind dies out. A christian can only lose her/his faith is she/he decides to no longer believe, to no longer be faithful.
Maybe I should title it, “The Wind Dies Out” But as metaphors go, the wind isn’t very exciting. Not sure how Ms. Cabal will react to it.
Third essay—Theme: christianity represents the hatred of life Working title: None
Another issue that must be addressed, one of the central foundations of my argument against christianity. Need to find a way to make it run deep, not just some tirade against the death-symbolism of christianity, which is an obvious position. Got to get into the ramifications of that symbolism. Also, this is a subject I have written on before, so I have to be careful not to repeat myself. Must constantly reveal new truths throughout this process, rehashing ideas would be the easy way out.
Fourth essay—Women and christianity Working title: None
This is a dichotomy I’ve always wanted to confront in an essay. Did actually write about this once, many years ago, but never sold it.
The unique thing about this essay will be that it just doesn't portray women as the victim to big bad patriarchal christianity; rather it challenges females; why do they support an institution like christianity so opposed to their freedom and self-governing of their own bodies. It is just because they seek eternal salvation or is it something more?
If women didn't use the church as a social outlet to keep friends and family connected would it have such a grip on the culture at large?
And...that’s all I got. Hardly an outline, it probably should be called an outline of the outline.
Can’t settle for this, though, Ms. Cabal’s expecting a complete outline, even if it’s not perfect.
Need a coherent structure that flows from first essay to last, but it's not coming to me.
Just have to dig a little deeper, that’s all.
Gotta wrack my brain and come up with all the topics I want to cover in the course of this book.
Got the basics out of the way, the heavy hitting topics. Now I’ve got round it out.
Somehow I want the first and last essay to be linked…in some way. But right now I don’t have a clue how to conclude it, nor how to link them.
Nothing is coming to me
It’s like the pressure of writing for Ms. Cabal has built a wall around my mind and no new ideas can creep in, just when I need them most.
Get up from the chair, away from the PC, sick of the blank whiteness of the screen coming over me.
Need another vision, goddammit.
Maybe I need to bring one on.
But don’t have any booze or drugs.
Could whack off, but that’ll make me sleepy and/or hungry and I don’t need that right now.
Besides, how intellectually useful could an orgasm be?
I need to stay on edge, not get relaxed.
Or do I…?
What about…meditation?
Never had tried it.
Least not with any sincerity. There was that one girl I was seeing, seven or eight years ago, and she was into meditation and tried to get me into it, and I went along with it for a couple session just because she was good in bed.
Heart was never into it so I didn’t get anything out of it, which is generally the case.
Heart wasn’t into her for that matter, so she let me go soon after those couple of weekends at the local yoga studio where I pretended to care.
But if I just sit there and empty my head, which is what it’s running on anyway, maybe a vision or an idea will spring up, pop in my head, overtake me.
Throw a spare blanket from my closet down on the some free space on my floor and plop down on it.
Sit arched on my butt, with my legs folded in the good ol’ Lotus Position, legs crossed with left foot on right thigh and right foot on left thigh.
Close my eyes, and try to think of absolutely nothing.
But that doesn’t seem possible…because something always pops into my head.
Some ...thought--like that one.
To truly think of nothing, I’ve got to lose the awareness that I’m thinking of nothing, because that awareness triggers thoughts of…not thinking about anything.
A vicious circle.
Suppose that’s why chanting or a mantra is used in meditation, to distract one’s self from thoughts and awareness.
At least, that’s my cynical take on chanting, which ain’t really for me.
I could fancy a mantra though:
christ is dead
christ is dead
christ is dead...
Instead of driving the thoughts out, decide to concentrate intensely on any thought that enters my mind…
But the only thought I can snatch out of thick air is the one where I realize I don’t have enough ideas for my book.
It's hounding me, haunting me.
Seems like all my inspiration/visions came about either when I was in a different setting (Snob Hill, the strobe lights at the Lab, the church), or, when I had a different mind-set, from the hash or from the news of the FOC bombing or jerking off to thoughts of Ms. Cabal.
They sure didn’t happen with me just sitting in my apartment, thinking about...nothing, waiting around for a 'vision' like I’m some desperate christian staring at some danish in New York City trying to find jesus' face in the nooks and crannies of a breakfast snack.
Feel like a first-class schmuckola doing this, so I get up, shake off the blanket and get back in front of my computer, where I belong.
If I sat on that floor any longer, I would’ve had to bust out a sitar and some incense.
Got to sit here and come up with a semi-legitimate list of topics for essay subjects. Fuck ‘em if they aren’t unified or this essay doesn’t relate to that one, just get something down on paper.
Ms. Cabal will probably rip it to shreds no matter what I come up with anyway, but at least there’s gotta be some meat on that bone I toss her.
In two days, after our meeting I’ll obviously a better idea of what she’s looking for.
Will include an essay on the right-wing christian conspiracy theories (not all of them, of course, that could be a whole book onto itself).
Not sure how appropriate it is, but fuck it--I needed something, and nothing's coming to me. Classic block syndrome.
Dealing with conspiracies is always dicey, especially if we're trying to appeal to a wider audience, which Ms. Cabal gives me every impression she wants to.
Know a way around it, I reckon. Won’t endorse these theories, but will present them objectively and their possible implications if any proved to be true.
That way, I don't commit to anything that could come back later to bite me on the ass. What I may buy into, while intellectually honest on my part, is not what's necessarily going in the book.
posted by Darwin Grimm at 1:42 AM
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