We blinked at him. “What do you mean?” I said. I love that you can ask people what they mean right after they’ve said the most obvious things and almost invariably they’ll assume that they are the ones who’ve failed to be clear and go to elaborate lengths to make themselves understood.
Really? It wasn’t? Well, yes and no. She didn’t want me to feel rejected but she did want to reject me. Still, Lily’s reasoning was very sensible, and she was right that I was bored, I am often bored, and I felt a strange relief and, behind the relief, a faint sadness. It was sadness about a lot of things, but perhaps, most simply stated, it was regret that we had grown self-knowing enough to avoid our mistakes.
Such hedonism. Much wow. I'm not sure I'm sold on this one, although yes the envy rant was lovely, but perhaps I know too many people like this who think they're one ayuahasca trip away from saving the world or reaching nirvana.
Hahaha. So much naughtiness and haughtiness. This piece made me love and hate myself in a few new ways. Whatever that even means. If anything. Mostly I just can't believe how much I recognized so many of these thoughts. They're my own.
I spent the first precious moments of this wonderful morning laughing my ass of at this absolute masterpiece. Don’t be fooled by the silliness; this is hella deep. (I think?) Regardless, now I need to read everything Greg Jackson has ever written.
There’s a hole in the bucket list! Life, tomorrow, the astonishing insufficiency of memory.
Update (4/1/2020):
I was by no means innocent, either, of the slow supplanting drift by which the means to our most cherished and noble ends become the ends themselves—so that, for instance, writing something to change the world becomes writing something that matters to you becomes publishing something halfway decent becomes writing something publishable; or, to give another arbitrary example, finding everlasting love becomes finding somewhat lasting love becomes finding a reasonable mix of tolerance and lust becomes finding a sensible social teammate. And, of course, with each recalibration you think not that you are trading down or betraying your values but that you are becoming more mature. And maybe you are.
And Wagner’s monologue about not giving a shit — oh my god:
“But you don’t have the good stuff, do you, the really hard-to-come-by shit. You know what I’m talking about: Envy. Serious, irrefutable reasons for people to envy you. And not just any sort of people, of course. You need people well informed enough to understand just how enviable you are. And people clever enough to know how to show their envy without being sycophants, and worldly enough to be charming company while they’re envying you. . . . You need courtiers, see? Oh, they’re better and worse than friends. They don’t care about you, sure, but they understand the terms of your success far better than a friend ever could. And so when you forget why you did all the shit you did, all you have to do is look at their greedy, glowing, envious faces and say, ‘Ah, yes. That’s why.’ ”
oh my goodness...funny and sassy...
Such hedonism. Much wow. I'm not sure I'm sold on this one, although yes the envy rant was lovely, but perhaps I know too many people like this who think they're one ayuahasca trip away from saving the world or reaching nirvana.
lolol, you and me both.
Raging, fun, crazy read. Perfect for quarantine. Makes me happy I’m in my sixties.
Simply:
I laughed out loud several times through the article. This made me miss Palm Springs.
Hahaha. So much naughtiness and haughtiness. This piece made me love and hate myself in a few new ways. Whatever that even means. If anything. Mostly I just can't believe how much I recognized so many of these thoughts. They're my own.
There’s a hole in the bucket list! Life, tomorrow, the astonishing insufficiency of memory.
And Wagner’s monologue about not giving a shit — oh my god: