Greetings from scenic,

Category: Diary
Tags: Film Excess


The rain's come again; it seems it will continue through the night, perhaps letting up by morning and only begrudgingly then. The clouds are stuck to the sky like pasted construction paper on the scene's backdrop.

Yesterday the sky accompanied me to Hunt Library, one of the two on-campus lending libraries made available to the general student population. I checked out a compilation of Kaczynski's manifesto, clarifications, and supplementary materials. I haven't been able to stop reading since I checked it out; he has such a compelling style: summary, concise, clear, a style so perfectly suited to his rigorous form of argumentation that it never feels out-of-place or over-the-top.

That's saying nothing of his actual argumentation, but that is which I am not yet comfortable to discuss (not having finished yet).

Some time and space after that I cozied in to the couch in the living room and watched a movie; I had already seen the film being shown but I could not place myself to object watching that engaging film again and getting pleasantly cozy with friends. I was distracted for the full-length of the film but hell, I didn't realize I enjoyed being such a degenerate. Simply to lay my head across the lap of someone else; that's not something which I find the opportunity to do often, but when someone's running his hands through my hair suddenly the back-and-forth motion envelopes my soul entirely, paralyzing my mind and reducing me only to base instinct until it's finally quitted. Then my hair, a complete mess and somehow becoming more wildly fitting by having been tossed left-right, is gathered again.

But such excess pleasure is not granted often. Actually, I would say that I have refused to grant myself this excess so frequently that no matter how much it may be indulged now, no matter how many angles of an early-morning sun alight my face and stir the character of myself who is hardly known, this excess could only offset an average which is weighted according to my own metric. That metric is one which is still in the process of being invented, however, I'm sure you understand what I mean.


Within Kaczynski's framework degeneracy should be called a surrogate action. That is to say that (and especially for me) if I were called on to perform some task necessary to nourish me or keep me alive with the same aggressive and rigorous treatment I have permitted to the pursuit of degeneracy then I would hardly feel robbed, deperessed, or otherwise out-of-sorts. And just as there are many people who live content, wholesome, comfortable lives there are those of us who reject such a thing. We choose to reject our own comfort at the benefit of our own happiness. That requires some degree of self-awareness of which most are not keen on.

I lived with such a lack of awareness for the better part of my life; but something within the past years has granted me the opportunity to strip my bed of the cozy blankets of lazy contentment, for that I am ever grateful. Perhaps the itch has always been there but I have only recently decided to act on it.

I had on discovering this itch of character, wondered whether it is present in anyone else. The answer is a bountiful yes, there are many such someones. Most are even more remarkable and more familiar with that quirk than myself, either having recognized it long ago or simply having been around it longer to understand the thing better.

I've come to know a great deal of these someones; it seems no coincidence that such a group of people should cloud together.

In being a part of this group you only need to ensure that you do not become comfortable, cozy, lazy together. Because if you should do so then you've failed to grasp really any meaning at all.

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