things that don't exist

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I keep thinking too much and writing too little. In this post I’m gonna attempt to organize all the thoughts from the past several weeks. It may go hideously! It may at least have its moments.

The pit breakup is sooooo last month, and for what it’s worth they faked it for some stupid reason, but since all the things on my mind involve the postmodern society of spectacle (yeah, that’s right, I typed that phrase), it’s worth mentioning. I was at work when it happened and saw the crowd but not the sight. Walking to class, I heard the sentence “Dude I’m totally gonna Youtube that” uttered excitedly and with at least a semblance of sincerity. I scribbled down in my moleskine that the only spectacles for me were private, ephemeral, unshareable and un-youtubeable. You had to be there. In an airport the next day, I staged some monumental, momentary spectacles of my own. I didn’t broadcast them. That they seeped from the private into the public via the declaration of a facebook relationship was bewildering and absurd. I’ve gone without publicly acknowledging it any further because it’s impossible to explain. The only way I can tell it is the series of allusions and generalizations after this paragraph break. Here is the paragraph break:
The sequence of small spectacles and magnificent confluences this year has transcended narrative. It sounds ridiculous, and it is, but there’s no true way to tell it but in momentary flashes back, disconnected snippets of reckless excellence. I could tell you about the Great Mimetic Triumph of My Life, in which I introduced the greatness of interrobangs and octopodes to total strangers. I could tell of the Great Nerd Hero Introductory Triumph, in which the first thing Cory said to me was that, via the miracle of trackback, he’d read the very post where I wondered if anyone was reading. (Hi again, Cory!)

I could tell, somehow, about all the great ridiculous triumphs of The Romancing of My (Stupid!?) Face, but it would all seem merely twee, incomprehensibly silly. For now, I will say only that I am flying to Chicago tomorrow evening, and that the last months of my undergraduate career will be the best. They will have been; they are.

(Oh, and, while I’m telling stories and spouting nonsense about celebrity and spectacle, anyone who has not heard it ought to ask me sometime about The Triumphant Tale of My Great Dean Smith Encounter. Really it happened in the best possible way it could have.)

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