greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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"My dirty hands. Have I been in the war?"

Geoffrey just left for Framingham about ten minutes ago. Now, I'm trying to get focused and accept that I have to spend the rest of the day on interviews. As the years go by, it is something I find less and less palatable, answering questions about myself.

Oh, and I'm actually very fond of stream of consciousness. It's just that the author must have a consciousness worth streaming.


Yesterday is a blur of coffee and conversation. It's very strange how a day seems to go on forever when I'm not at the computer. Yesterday felt like at least two days, so this feels like Monday. But the phone hasn't rung and there's been hardly any email, so I know it's not actually Monday. A peculiar sort of inverted time dilation, or something of the sort. Last night, we watched Jonathan Hensleigh's Kill the Irishman (2011). We were going to watch a couple of episodes of Farscape afterwards, but Geoffrey got sleepy. It was a good visit, and served to remind me how I see other people far too infrequently. In this regard, my best intentions really get me nowhere fast.


Religious distress is at the same time the expression of real distress and the protest against real distress. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is required for their real happiness. The demand to give up the illusion about its condition is the demand to give up a condition which needs illusions. ~ Karl Marx, Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right (1843).

Eight more days.

Lost in Thought, or Lost,
Aunt Beast
Tags: coffee, geoffrey, interviews, reclusive me, religion, time, writing

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