HERE I AM. It is 3:27 a.m. on Monday, May 2. I am in the process of writing a paper for class. The opening quote, from ""Comparative Studies on Intersubjectivity in Modern Art:"" ""As the self opens up to the other, while also offering itself per se, it cannot avoid being altered, and, by the same token, constitutes itself as an ever dynamic, changing self, rather than a foreclosed individuality.""
Currently my ever dynamic, changing self is being altered by my listening to M.I.A.'s ""Paper Planes"" this nine millionth time. With each repetition, deeper meaning is accrued.
Similarly, meaning accumulates in e.e. cummings' poem ""All in green my love went riding."" Cummings repeats the deliciously threatening statement, ""four lean hounds crouched low and smiling"" four times. With each repetition, the threat of the smiling hounds seems more imminent. The smiling hounds manifest as depression in my life.
If I had three wishes… well, I would only need one. I would wish that the age of Kali-Yuga would come to an end immediately, so that all life forms would be assimilated into the Universal Self of pure awareness, omniscience and joy. That would be divine.
Pandora says, ""I'm bringing sexy back, / You motherfuckers watch how I attack."" Next stop on the train of thought: Obama. He brought sexy back tonight, didn't he, America?
I was walking across the courtyard of my building when I received a text from a friend who went to my high school. I had been insisting that he talk to his grandma, whom he lives with, about his current depression because I believe that having a meaningful conversation with someone physically present will benefit him most. But then he said, ""Not now. Waiting for Obama to come on the TV. Osama bin Laden is dead.""
How did I react? I laughed, elated. Not because America triumphed, but because Osama bin Laden being dead seemed so absurd. I mean, what? I was fairly convinced that he had already been killed or that he would never be found. In fact, I was even skeptical of his existence. Yeah, sure there's the guy in the videos and the ""political leader."" But history isn't real in the way that my hands on this keyboard are real. I don't believe in Osama bin Laden in the way that I believe in here, now.
And, another thing: How could some religious nut who lives in a cave plan and execute the demise of American symbols of power?
Then, later, that same friend from high school sent me a video of ""Obama."" In it, he stands at the podium, says abruptly, ""He's dead!"" He then turns and kicks down a door, through which he exits the press conference.
Speaking of important people whose names end in ""a,"" (besides myself, of course), I was so excited to find this book about Spinoza (a 17th century philosopher) setting the stage for neuroscience. So excited. How was the author going to make that connection? I was dying to know. But, when I arrived at the call number location the computer told me, THE BOOK WAS NOT THERE. This is when my mood dove to sub-subterranean levels.
Seriously—I spent all that time finding this location to NOT BE REWARDED?
Instant gratification. I want to be able to say, ""Let me feel euphoria forever!"" and then feel euphoria forever. I mean, who doesn't?
Well, there it is—my last column for The Daily Cardinal this semester and maybe ever. And what is it? A heap of fragments. A collage. A montage—(of a dream deferred. Langston Hughes wrote a poem sequence with that title).
But, you know, I am the self opening up to the other (you). Neither of us is a ""foreclosed individuality."" Both of us changed because of this pile of crap the world thrust under your nose, for better or for worse. I tend to be biased toward the judgment that people in general would benefit from thinking more like me… so it's imperative that the trajectory of your ideas follow those in this article. All the time. You'll go far. I have.
Not!
(Yet).
Comments? E-mail Angelica at aengel2@wisc.edu.
