Act first, think later — that way you have something to think about.
I thought about it, a few years actually, and I decided that meaning and language are two different things. And that what the alien voice in the psychedelic experience wants to reveal is the syntactical nature of reality. That the real secret of magic is that the world is made of words, and that if you know the words that the world is made of you can make of it whatever you wish.
After work on Friday, I got pampered at the WeHo drybar just for the hell of it, went to dinner at Lola’s, and shimmied at Harvard & Stone. Saturday included being relatively worthless for most of the day until I went shopping (new shoes! new TV for my mom!) and organized my living quarters. Today’s agenda: thesis, thesis, a joyful lunch with my father (doubtful), and more thesis.
Explored Greenpoint with my friend Gabby most of Saturday. For lunch we stopped at Pies ‘n Thighs. You have not lived till you’ve had chicken and waffles folks. For dessert: sour cherry pie with whipped cream.
and i’ll gamble away my time
The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. I suppose that it begins or does not begin in the cradle. Although I have felt compelled to write things down since I was five years old, I doubt that my daughter ever will, for she is a singularly blessed and accepting child, delighted with life exactly as life presents itself to her, unafraid to go to sleep and unafraid to wake up. Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.