Hermann Hesse - Steppenwolf

Learn what is to be taken seriously and laugh at the rest.

Hermann Hesse - Steppenwolf

Learn what is to be taken seriously and laugh at the rest.

The Tree of Life

Fyodor Dostoevsky - The Brothers Karammazov

Love people even in their sin, for that is the semblance of Divine Love and is the highest love on earth. Love all of God’s creation, the whole and every grain of sand of it. Love every leaf, every ray of God’s light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love.

(via lucifelle-deactivated20120919)

Don DeLillo - Mao II

She is waiting to file past Master and sees him with the single floating eye of the crowd, inseparable from her own apparatus of vision but sharper-sighted, able to perceive more deeply. She feels intact, rayed with well-being. They all feel the same, young people from fifty countries, immunized against the language of self. They’re forgetting who they are under their clothes, leaving behind all the small banes and body woes, the daylong list of sore gums and sweaty nape and need to pee, ancient rumbles in the gut, momentary chills and tics, the fungoid dampness between the toes, the deep spasm near the shoulder blade that’s charged with mortal reckoning. All gone now. They stand and chant, fortified by the blood of numbers.


Do you want to know why I believe in the novel? It’s a democratic shout. Anybody can write a great novel, one great novel, almost any amateur off the street. I believe this, George. Some nameless drudge, some desperado with barely a nurtured dream can sit down and find his voice and luck out and do it. Something so angelic it makes your jaw hang open. The spray of talent, the spray of ideas. One thing unlike another, one voice unlike the next. Ambiguities, contradictions, whispers, hints.


"How do you know he’s alone?"
"Of course he’s alone. He wants to be so alone that he can forget how to live. He doesn’t want it anymore. He wants to give it all back."

Don DeLillo - Mao II

She is waiting to file past Master and sees him with the single floating eye of the crowd, inseparable from her own apparatus of vision but sharper-sighted, able to perceive more deeply. She feels intact, rayed with well-being. They all feel the same, young people from fifty countries, immunized against the language of self. They’re forgetting who they are under their clothes, leaving behind all the small banes and body woes, the daylong list of sore gums and sweaty nape and need to pee, ancient rumbles in the gut, momentary chills and tics, the fungoid dampness between the toes, the deep spasm near the shoulder blade that’s charged with mortal reckoning. All gone now. They stand and chant, fortified by the blood of numbers.

Do you want to know why I believe in the novel? It’s a democratic shout. Anybody can write a great novel, one great novel, almost any amateur off the street. I believe this, George. Some nameless drudge, some desperado with barely a nurtured dream can sit down and find his voice and luck out and do it. Something so angelic it makes your jaw hang open. The spray of talent, the spray of ideas. One thing unlike another, one voice unlike the next. Ambiguities, contradictions, whispers, hints.

"How do you know he’s alone?"

"Of course he’s alone. He wants to be so alone that he can forget how to live. He doesn’t want it anymore. He wants to give it all back."

Dennis Cooper - Try

If love’s ever an issue outside art, like now via Ziggy, or sometimes with Josie, part of him gravitates to that supposed love very conventionally, and part of him’s sort of appalled but can’t exactly control the first part, except in terms of the way he responds, words-wise. He has theories galore about how well the world seems to function when one maintains distance from all other people. At some point in the past he’d been weak—a confused adolescent, obedient to parents and lazily Christian. Later, having read a little Nietzsche in school, he decided, among other things, that the world was preprogrammed by Satan or God or whoever, and, semibelieving this theory, as he continues to do on occasion, human beings are viruses. Thus, nothing matters. Self-absorption’s the rule, if one follows that logic. But, at the same time, being stuck in the stupid real world, he can’t help but realize he’s an asshole for not just announcing, ‘I love you too, Ziggy.’ Because that’s the truth, he supposes. Certainly he’s grateful. Plus there’s a great chance his gratitude constitutes love in itself. Didn’t he read that somewhere? Calhoun looks at the phone, even reaches his hand out to call Ziggy back, but, seconds later, the logic behind that idea just … dissipates? And he zones out, mouth open, eyes glassy hands splayed in his lap. Looks bad, but it feels unbelievable. Tick, tick, tick …


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Dennis Cooper - Try

If love’s ever an issue outside art, like now via Ziggy, or sometimes with Josie, part of him gravitates to that supposed love very conventionally, and part of him’s sort of appalled but can’t exactly control the first part, except in terms of the way he responds, words-wise. He has theories galore about how well the world seems to function when one maintains distance from all other people. At some point in the past he’d been weaka confused adolescent, obedient to parents and lazily Christian. Later, having read a little Nietzsche in school, he decided, among other things, that the world was preprogrammed by Satan or God or whoever, and, semibelieving this theory, as he continues to do on occasion, human beings are viruses. Thus, nothing matters. Self-absorption’s the rule, if one follows that logic. But, at the same time, being stuck in the stupid real world, he can’t help but realize he’s an asshole for not just announcing, ‘I love you too, Ziggy.’ Because that’s the truth, he supposes. Certainly he’s grateful. Plus there’s a great chance his gratitude constitutes love in itself. Didn’t he read that somewhere? Calhoun looks at the phone, even reaches his hand out to call Ziggy back, but, seconds later, the logic behind that idea just … dissipates? And he zones out, mouth open, eyes glassy hands splayed in his lap. Looks bad, but it feels unbelievable. Tick, tick, tick …

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Peter Singer - Animal Liberation

Animal Liberation will require greater altruism on the part of human beings than any other liberation movement. The animals themselves are incapable of demanding their own liberation, or of protesting against their condition with votes, demonstrations, or boycotts. Human beings have the power to continue to oppress other species forever, or until we make this planet unsuitable for living beings. Will our tyranny continue, proving that morality counts for nothing when it clashes with self-interest, as the most cynical of poets and philosophers have always said? Or will we rise to the challenge and prove our capacity for genuine altruism by ending our ruthless exploitation of the species in our power, not because we are forced to do so by rebels or terrorists, but because we recognize that our position is morally indefensible?
The way in which we answer this question depends on the way in which each one of us, individually, answers it.

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Peter Singer - Animal Liberation

Animal Liberation will require greater altruism on the part of human beings than any other liberation movement. The animals themselves are incapable of demanding their own liberation, or of protesting against their condition with votes, demonstrations, or boycotts. Human beings have the power to continue to oppress other species forever, or until we make this planet unsuitable for living beings. Will our tyranny continue, proving that morality counts for nothing when it clashes with self-interest, as the most cynical of poets and philosophers have always said? Or will we rise to the challenge and prove our capacity for genuine altruism by ending our ruthless exploitation of the species in our power, not because we are forced to do so by rebels or terrorists, but because we recognize that our position is morally indefensible?

The way in which we answer this question depends on the way in which each one of us, individually, answers it.

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Fred Magdoff & Michael D. Yates - The ABCs of the Economic Crisis

It is impossible for ever-higher levels of consumption to make us happy. The logic of the system is that we must be perpetually unsatisfied, always wanting more. In a system that guarantees considerable inequality, we are bound to be envious of the consumption of those richer than we are. But every time we think we have caught up, we see that there are still many richer people above us. And if those below catch up with us, we have to consumer more to stay ahead. It could be argued that a consumption-based society would be more acceptable if there were a rough equality of spending power. But this is—and cannot help but be—the case; capital accumulation will not allow it. We are not and cannot be “slouching toward utopia,” to use the inapt phrase of economist J. Bradford DeLong, a utopia of a worldwide majority middle class of happy consumers, all buying big-screen televisions and nice automobiles. And does DeLong imagine that the world could ecologically support several billion human beings consuming at a pace on par with middle-class U.S. households? It is estimated that it would take the resources of four worlds like our to provide the equivalent of a U.S. middle-class consumption pattern for all of the world 6.5 billion people. Now, we are certainly not arguing that everyone should be poor or that those now at the bottom don’t need a healthy dose of consumption, especially food, clothing, and shelter. But we are saying that the so-called consumer culture that characterizes that United States and a few other rich countries is not a model worth fighting for, nor is it ecologically sustainable.
What is worth fighting for? Perhaps this severe recession offers us an opportunity to ask this question. This crisis has revealed the rotten foundation of our economy and called into question the neoliberal policies and ideology that have deepened the rot. We cannot sustain ourselves with ever-larger doses of debt relative to the underlying economy. We cannot be happy in a world of rising insecurity: How will we pay the debts? Where will we find decent and secure employment? How will we cope with health problems? How will we survive old age? Will our air, water, and food supply be poisoned? We cannot be happy in a world in which the fruits of human labor are distributed in an obscenely unequal manner. Inequality itself causes a host of problems, from lower life expectancies of those further down the ladder to more people in prison, and it raises the level of insecurity. The rage of the poor and the fear of the rich are the legacies of the growing gap between them. Finally, and of the greatest importance, we cannot be happy with the nature of the work most of us are compelled to do. Millions of us are unemployed, and this is a bad thing. But for those working, the stress is rising, as fewer people are being forced to do more work and employment becomes more precarious. Employers use periods this like to discover ways to permanently reduce the size of their workforces. They continue the strategy of lean production, using as little skilled labor as possible, constantly stressing the system so that work can be sped up, and then cutting benefits as much as possible. There is no way that the majority of people can do meaningful work in a system like this. Labor is simply a cost of production, to be minimized and on a par with a piece of equipment or fuel. What does it mean when there is a joke that says, “The only thing worse than being employed is being unemployed”?
It seems to us that there are many things worth fighting for. Here is a list for starters. Readers will no doubt think of others.
 - Adequate food for everyone. - Decent housing. - Universal health care. - Full employment/good jobs.  - Quality education for all. - Adequate income in old age. - Enhanced public transportation. - A commitment to a sustainable environment.  - Progressive taxation. - A non-imperialist government. - Labor- and environment-friendly trade.

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Fred Magdoff & Michael D. Yates - The ABCs of the Economic Crisis

It is impossible for ever-higher levels of consumption to make us happy. The logic of the system is that we must be perpetually unsatisfied, always wanting more. In a system that guarantees considerable inequality, we are bound to be envious of the consumption of those richer than we are. But every time we think we have caught up, we see that there are still many richer people above us. And if those below catch up with us, we have to consumer more to stay ahead. It could be argued that a consumption-based society would be more acceptable if there were a rough equality of spending power. But this is—and cannot help but be—the case; capital accumulation will not allow it. We are not and cannot be “slouching toward utopia,” to use the inapt phrase of economist J. Bradford DeLong, a utopia of a worldwide majority middle class of happy consumers, all buying big-screen televisions and nice automobiles. And does DeLong imagine that the world could ecologically support several billion human beings consuming at a pace on par with middle-class U.S. households? It is estimated that it would take the resources of four worlds like our to provide the equivalent of a U.S. middle-class consumption pattern for all of the world 6.5 billion people. Now, we are certainly not arguing that everyone should be poor or that those now at the bottom don’t need a healthy dose of consumption, especially food, clothing, and shelter. But we are saying that the so-called consumer culture that characterizes that United States and a few other rich countries is not a model worth fighting for, nor is it ecologically sustainable.

What is worth fighting for? Perhaps this severe recession offers us an opportunity to ask this question. This crisis has revealed the rotten foundation of our economy and called into question the neoliberal policies and ideology that have deepened the rot. We cannot sustain ourselves with ever-larger doses of debt relative to the underlying economy. We cannot be happy in a world of rising insecurity: How will we pay the debts? Where will we find decent and secure employment? How will we cope with health problems? How will we survive old age? Will our air, water, and food supply be poisoned? We cannot be happy in a world in which the fruits of human labor are distributed in an obscenely unequal manner. Inequality itself causes a host of problems, from lower life expectancies of those further down the ladder to more people in prison, and it raises the level of insecurity. The rage of the poor and the fear of the rich are the legacies of the growing gap between them. Finally, and of the greatest importance, we cannot be happy with the nature of the work most of us are compelled to do. Millions of us are unemployed, and this is a bad thing. But for those working, the stress is rising, as fewer people are being forced to do more work and employment becomes more precarious. Employers use periods this like to discover ways to permanently reduce the size of their workforces. They continue the strategy of lean production, using as little skilled labor as possible, constantly stressing the system so that work can be sped up, and then cutting benefits as much as possible. There is no way that the majority of people can do meaningful work in a system like this. Labor is simply a cost of production, to be minimized and on a par with a piece of equipment or fuel. What does it mean when there is a joke that says, “The only thing worse than being employed is being unemployed”?

It seems to us that there are many things worth fighting for. Here is a list for starters. Readers will no doubt think of others.

- Adequate food for everyone.
- Decent housing.
- Universal health care.
- Full employment/good jobs. 
- Quality education for all.
- Adequate income in old age.
- Enhanced public transportation.
- A commitment to a sustainable environment. 
- Progressive taxation.
- A non-imperialist government.
- Labor- and environment-friendly trade.

G

Misha Glouberman with Sheila Heti - The Chairs Are Where the People Go

65. Who Are Your Friends?
Teaching my classes, I started to notice during the breaks that there was so much warmth between these people who often had very little in common. They had engaged in a fairly passionate and intimate kind of play with each other, and the connections between them happened so quickly, and they developed such a collective fondness for each other. But this fondness lacked the traits we normally associate with adult friendship. They didn’t know that much about each other. They didn’t know what was going on in each other’s lives. But they felt a strong and genuine closeness. They were happy to see each other. And I started to think, Oh—friends are the people you play with. That seemed like a pretty good definition of friendship to me, and I was satisfied with it. 
Then, about five years ago, a friend of mine moved here from Kelowna, British Columbia. She said, You know, in Toronto, friendships are all based around talking. What you do with your friends is you go out for coffee or drinks, or you go to their apartment and you talk about stuff. In Kelowna, what you do with your friends is go swimming. It seemed really beautiful to me that in Kelowna your friends might just be these people who liked floating around in the water with you—that the people floating near you are your friends.

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Misha Glouberman with Sheila Heti - The Chairs Are Where the People Go

65. Who Are Your Friends?

Teaching my classes, I started to notice during the breaks that there was so much warmth between these people who often had very little in common. They had engaged in a fairly passionate and intimate kind of play with each other, and the connections between them happened so quickly, and they developed such a collective fondness for each other. But this fondness lacked the traits we normally associate with adult friendship. They didn’t know that much about each other. They didn’t know what was going on in each other’s lives. But they felt a strong and genuine closeness. They were happy to see each other. And I started to think, Ohfriends are the people you play with. That seemed like a pretty good definition of friendship to me, and I was satisfied with it. 

Then, about five years ago, a friend of mine moved here from Kelowna, British Columbia. She said, You know, in Toronto, friendships are all based around talking. What you do with your friends is you go out for coffee or drinks, or you go to their apartment and you talk about stuff. In Kelowna, what you do with your friends is go swimming. It seemed really beautiful to me that in Kelowna your friends might just be these people who liked floating around in the water with youthat the people floating near you are your friends.

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Misha Glouberman with Sheila Heti - The Chairs Are Where the People Go

 20. Margaux
I live with Margaux Williamson. We’ve lived together for quite a few years now. We’re very happy together.
 For a long time in my life, I didn’t have serious girlfriends that much. It was something that in the abstract I always thought I should do.
 I had certain ideas about what kind of person my girlfriend might be. I met Margaux and I was pretty fascinated by her. She’s a remarkably unusual person. She doesn’t really think like anyone else. She doesn’t really act like anyone else.
 I was with her for a while and I kept thinking, This is so not like the person I’d imagined. And at the same time I thought, once the relationship got at all serious, Well, I’m kind of stuck, because there’s no way in the world that I’m going to be able to find someone who’s sort of like Margaux but better, because there’s no one like Margaux. 
 I love Margaux tremendously, and I’m very happy to have her in my life. There’s no way I could have seen her coming. It’s not like there was this Margaux-shaped hole in my life. There’s no way on earth that I could have invented her. She’s just too unusual. She came as a real surprise.
 I think the way I’d always thought this sort of thing worked was that you had some sort of imaginary person in your head and then you’d meet someone who was pretty close to that imaginary person, but it turns out that what worked for me was meeting a person who didn’t correspond to anything in my head at all but was something new that came from the world. 

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Misha Glouberman with Sheila Heti - The Chairs Are Where the People Go

20. Margaux

I live with Margaux Williamson. We’ve lived together for quite a few years now. We’re very happy together.

For a long time in my life, I didn’t have serious girlfriends that much. It was something that in the abstract I always thought I should do.

I had certain ideas about what kind of person my girlfriend might be. I met Margaux and I was pretty fascinated by her. She’s a remarkably unusual person. She doesn’t really think like anyone else. She doesn’t really act like anyone else.

I was with her for a while and I kept thinking, This is so not like the person I’d imagined. And at the same time I thought, once the relationship got at all serious, Well, I’m kind of stuck, because there’s no way in the world that I’m going to be able to find someone who’s sort of like Margaux but better, because there’s no one like Margaux. 

I love Margaux tremendously, and I’m very happy to have her in my life. There’s no way I could have seen her coming. It’s not like there was this Margaux-shaped hole in my life. There’s no way on earth that I could have invented her. She’s just too unusual. She came as a real surprise.

I think the way I’d always thought this sort of thing worked was that you had some sort of imaginary person in your head and then you’d meet someone who was pretty close to that imaginary person, but it turns out that what worked for me was meeting a person who didn’t correspond to anything in my head at all but was something new that came from the world. 

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Sheila Heti - We Need a Horse

Then the darkness came and whispered in the horse’s ear. “Thank you for accompanying me,” it said. “I am always nervous on this journey, and I hate to go alone. So thank you for coming with me, horse. Now I’m less scared, and not at all lonely.”
The horse said, “You’re welcome.”
He was glad he was a horse, strong and steady, so he could go with the darkness.

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Sheila Heti - We Need a Horse

Then the darkness came and whispered in the horse’s ear. “Thank you for accompanying me,” it said. “I am always nervous on this journey, and I hate to go alone. So thank you for coming with me, horse. Now I’m less scared, and not at all lonely.”

The horse said, “You’re welcome.”

He was glad he was a horse, strong and steady, so he could go with the darkness.

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Sheila Heti - How Should a Person Be?

WHAT IS FREEDOM?
Say my first boyfriend had been right. Say it was true that if I lived the life that was really inside me and extended my will into the world, I would wind up loveless and lost and alone, my face in some stranger’s hairy ass.
But if my fate was truly my fate, then trying to dodge it by doing whatever I could would only lead me more quickly to the place I feared. If there could be no escape from who I was, then I ought to reach my end honestly, able to tell myself that, at least, I had lived it with all of my being, making choices and deciding.
Who cares? If someone has to end up, at the end of their long life, kneeling in a dumpster before a Nazi, it might as well be me. Why not? Aren’t I a human? Who am I to hold myself aloof from all the terrible fates of the world? My life need be no less ugly than the rest.
And if I get to have a couple of true friendships along the way — if at least part of the time I’m sitting with Margaux in our studio, talking about art — then I’ll be at least able to look back on these past few years and say, At least the travelling to it wasn’t all bad.

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Sheila Heti - How Should a Person Be?

WHAT IS FREEDOM?

Say my first boyfriend had been right. Say it was true that if I lived the life that was really inside me and extended my will into the world, I would wind up loveless and lost and alone, my face in some stranger’s hairy ass.

But if my fate was truly my fate, then trying to dodge it by doing whatever I could would only lead me more quickly to the place I feared. If there could be no escape from who I was, then I ought to reach my end honestly, able to tell myself that, at least, I had lived it with all of my being, making choices and deciding.

Who cares? If someone has to end up, at the end of their long life, kneeling in a dumpster before a Nazi, it might as well be me. Why not? Aren’t I a human? Who am I to hold myself aloof from all the terrible fates of the world? My life need be no less ugly than the rest.


And if I get to have a couple of true friendships along the way — if at least part of the time I’m sitting with Margaux in our studio, talking about art — then I’ll be at least able to look back on these past few years and say, At least the travelling to it wasn’t all bad.

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(Source: geekfeed)

also when not-alone
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also when not-alone

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(via mugmugworld-deactivated20120315)

Tags: books

Joan Didion - Play It As It Lays

I might as well lay it on the line, I have trouble with as it was. 
I mean it leads nowhere. Benny Austin, my mother sitting in Paulette’s empty restaurant when it was 120º outside looking through her magazines for contests we could enter (Waikiki, Paris France, Roman Holiday, mother’s yearnings suffused our life like nerve gas, cross the ocean in a silver plane, she would croon to herself and mean it, see the jungle when it’s wet with rain), the three of us driving down to Vegas in the pickup and then driving home again in the clear night, a hundred miles down and a hundred miles back and nobody on the highway either way, just the snakes stretched on the warm asphalt and my mother with a wilted gardenia in her dark hair and my father keeping a fifth of Jim Beam on the floorboard and talking about his plans, he always had a lot of plans, I never in my life had any plans, none of it makes any sense, none of it ads up.


Carter called today, but I saw no point in talking to him. On the whole I talk to no one. I concentrate on the way light would strike filled Mason jars on a kitchen windowsill. I lie here in the sunlight, watch the hummingbird. This morning I threw the coins in the swimming pool, and they gleamed and turned in the water in such a way that I was almost moved to read them. I refrained.
One thing in my defense, not that it matters: I know something Carter never knew, or Helene, or maybe you. I know what “nothing” means, and keep on playing.
Why, BZ would say.
Why not, I say.

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Joan Didion - Play It As It Lays

I might as well lay it on the line, I have trouble with as it was

I mean it leads nowhere. Benny Austin, my mother sitting in Paulette’s empty restaurant when it was 120º outside looking through her magazines for contests we could enter (Waikiki, Paris France, Roman Holiday, mother’s yearnings suffused our life like nerve gas, cross the ocean in a silver plane, she would croon to herself and mean it, see the jungle when it’s wet with rain), the three of us driving down to Vegas in the pickup and then driving home again in the clear night, a hundred miles down and a hundred miles back and nobody on the highway either way, just the snakes stretched on the warm asphalt and my mother with a wilted gardenia in her dark hair and my father keeping a fifth of Jim Beam on the floorboard and talking about his plans, he always had a lot of plans, I never in my life had any plans, none of it makes any sense, none of it ads up.

Carter called today, but I saw no point in talking to him. On the whole I talk to no one. I concentrate on the way light would strike filled Mason jars on a kitchen windowsill. I lie here in the sunlight, watch the hummingbird. This morning I threw the coins in the swimming pool, and they gleamed and turned in the water in such a way that I was almost moved to read them. I refrained.

One thing in my defense, not that it matters: I know something Carter never knew, or Helene, or maybe you. I know what “nothing” means, and keep on playing.

Why, BZ would say.

Why not, I say.

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Sheila Heti - How Should a Person Be?

How should a person be?
For years and years I asked it of everyone I met. I was always watching to see what they were going to do in any situation, so I could do it too. I was always listening to their answers, so if I liked them, I could make them my answers too. I noticed the way people dressed, the way they treated their lovers — in everyone, there was something to envy. You can admire anyone for being themselves. It’s hard not to, when everyone’s so good at it. But when you think of them all together like that, how can you choose? How can you say, I’d rather be responsible like Misha than irresponsible like Margaux. Responsibility looks so good on Misha, and irresponsibility looks so good on Margaux. How could I know which would look best on me?
I admired all the great personalities through the ages, like Andy Warhol and Oscar Wilde. They seemed to be so perfectly themselves in every way. I didn’t think, Those are great souls, but I did think, Those are some great personalities for our age. Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein — they did things, but they were things.
I know that personality is just an invention of the news media. I know that character exists from the outside alone. I know that inside the body there’s just temperature. So how do you build your soul? At a certain point, I know, you have to forget about your soul and just do the work you’re required to do. To go on and on about your soul is to miss the whole point of life. I could say that with more certainty if I knew the whole point of life.


Why are you all reading? I don’t understand this reading business when there is so much fucking to be done.

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Sheila Heti - How Should a Person Be?

How should a person be?

For years and years I asked it of everyone I met. I was always watching to see what they were going to do in any situation, so I could do it too. I was always listening to their answers, so if I liked them, I could make them my answers too. I noticed the way people dressed, the way they treated their lovers — in everyone, there was something to envy. You can admire anyone for being themselves. It’s hard not to, when everyone’s so good at it. But when you think of them all together like that, how can you choose? How can you say, I’d rather be responsible like Misha than irresponsible like Margaux. Responsibility looks so good on Misha, and irresponsibility looks so good on Margaux. How could I know which would look best on me?

I admired all the great personalities through the ages, like Andy Warhol and Oscar Wilde. They seemed to be so perfectly themselves in every way. I didn’t think, Those are great souls, but I did think, Those are some great personalities for our age. Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein — they did things, but they were things.

I know that personality is just an invention of the news media. I know that character exists from the outside alone. I know that inside the body there’s just temperature. So how do you build your soul? At a certain point, I know, you have to forget about your soul and just do the work you’re required to do. To go on and on about your soul is to miss the whole point of life. I could say that with more certainty if I knew the whole point of life.

Why are you all reading? I don’t understand this reading business when there is so much fucking to be done.

G