against my will

I think I already wrote something today, but here's another. I'd rather not be blogging right now--I'm tired and would rather watch Valkyrie--but if I don't write this now, it'll get lost into the ether--or wherever it is that go all my good ideas.

It's midnight in Chicago, and I just got back from a salon in Hyde Park. Not to be confused with either a saloon or the salon where I got my haircut, this salon is more akin to the 18th-century Parisian salons--performances of music, poetry, and whatnot. This was my second. My first, I wrote about in January--here on embody the struggle. Because this is my journal of all things me. An overwhelming stream of mental diarrhea that I'm pouring into moulds, making bricks, and trying to build a chapel. Not like Sainte Chapelle, more Romanesque, like a chapel made out of poop-bricks. And in the chapel there's an altar on which to sacrifice living humans to please the gods of the internet. And the living humans are digitized and turned into avatars--but only in 2D. All in a temple of poop.

[I guess I've been thinking a lot about poop lately, having to pick up Jack Jack's poop 4 times a day.]

Tonight, at the salon, I was practically part of one of the performances. Not really Me-Me, more like Avatar-Me, the one who you imagine writing this right now. You see, in the post that I linked to up top, I gave a summary of my experience at the salon: overall positive but fraught with academicisms. Which then got brought up as an introduction to one of the performances tonight. Something like: "At the last salon there was a critic, who blogged about the salon..." und so weiter. Fortunately, they stayed away from being too academic this time. But I realized that that word is too imprecise, so if I'm going to complain about being annoyed by people I should be clearer: I'm annoyed by people who use language in a litigious way, being overly precise with words, getting lost in the letter and not the spirit. Some of these people become lawyers, some become academics. It leads to a lot of posturing without a lot of substance.

At the moment where I was the unnamed subject of conversation, I had thought that I had written about it on The Seeing Ear--you know, one of my other blogs, the music one. And I was reproaching myself, thinking that it was maybe the wrong place to write about something that is ostensibly a more private endeavor. But no, it was here.

Interesting coïncidence: before the salon I was joking around with Laura, somehow thinking it would be funny for her to start introducing me as "Darkness". But not half as funny as "Mr. Darkness" or "Your Darkness". Then I told her she might as well just call me "He who shall not be named", which I then became.

I thought of this video because of the lyrics. And, it's pretty catchy. But musically, it might as well be right out of the 80s. Why is this happening? Are we stuck in a time loop, or are we just regressing?