For now it is an effort in taking in signifiers. I made the equivocation 'abel.' abel from the bible, niels abel (famous mathematician that was discussed during the reading group). I said we should form an organization that's pro abel, in both senses. anyways, why did that strike me as important to recollect. That's something about getting stoned is you tend to lose ur thread. you wander and get distracted. I end up feeling critical of the style of my writing. I don't know what this style presumes, or really even consists of. Maybe quasi-academic? I supose I write in the vocab of the lacanian lit I am often consuming. Some how this is fitting for the life of jeremy: yeah man, he got really into lacanian psychoanalysis. One proposed goal of psychoanalysis is the capacity to speak well.
this was just supposed to be a receptacle, which is a box, or something akin to it, that stuff goes in. this is just bonus points. It's extra, it comes as a side, with jerm. The germ that prposes to speak well about something. Who hasks big questions about action, and makes bold statements. Why not? I don't care that much if I am right or if I am wrong. That is one thing you learn as a math student. You are often wrong, if you are anything like me.
These are the types of dumb thoughts you let yourself have when you are high. At least if you are jeremy. I wonder if there's anything else. Perhaps what is in store is a self-critique. I believe that some of my previous writings, probably even this writing to some extent, proposes itself as a kind of 'wisdom.' Well I don't know exactly what it poses itself as. I am not sure how my writing would be recognized by other people. I protect it from others, here on my website. Of course here anyone can stumble into it, presumably. though not many are likely to stumble into the url pan2crumb.com. I aspire to be some kind of treat providor. They talked about the sparkle in my eye. I remember it. I remember it as something singular, but perhaps it is part of what some people tell kids, something kind to say. 'Eyes are the window into the soul,' ms mcinerny said. She was quoting someone, I forget who. Somehow I weaved my way to an A plus with one of those papers I turned in. To be honest, I don't even recall exactly what it was about. I think it was about the philosophy of dualism? I forget exactly how it pertained to whatever it was we were reading, which I cannot recall. Somehow this essay won me an A+. I was recognized by some as clever in my own way.
What is a cause?
I suppose I just wait to see where my own rumbling takes me. Unfortunately it has to be around me. It could not be about something interesting, namely anything else. The truth is that I become tired of this blabbering. Always blabbering away, the same tired phrases. Kind of how I plateaued with trumpet, guitar, etc. Couldn't find creative form of expression. Alec's act was a creative one! I remember the dry clearners ep. That was epic. Who else did it? Nobody, that's who. Only Alec Doniger made a record while working at the dry cleaners. It was a singular invention. I have turned so inward. when alec, in his song, sang "I have always seen you, you will never see me," I wondered whether that was about me.
There needs to be some sort of turning-outward, an outreach. I remember the outstretched hand of my nightmare. Outstretched hand, I was trying to swat away the needle. I never considered that aspect: "with a mighty hand and and outstretched arm." There was the bone, where things crumbled. The beyond of this scene is inaccessible. There is a hole, there. Nothing. There is that which is inaccessible in my history, namely the period of diagnosis at around 15 monts old. This is what I had to confront, namely the inaccessibility, because the beyond of this crumbling zone which designates a lost trauma, fundamental to my inscription, where I have hoped to find enjoyment and meaning. Lacan had a term for this: joui-sense. It is a combination of joissance (french for enjoyment) with sense (eg meaning). I have yearsened in an effort to find joui-sense, sort of self immolating, becoming scraplike. It is a salvation I remember hoping for at the beginning of the book. There is the association satisfaction, with salvation. It is the area of non-meaning around which my reasaerches stumble. I like spelling researches in what I imagine to be the old english way.