Ataraxia

It's been my favorite word for awhile now. It appeals to me in a couple ways. It's old, Greek, and pleasing to the ear, and thoughtful. Ataraxia- state of peaceful detachment and harmony. Also, it was prized by the Stoics, who were hands down the biggest bad asses of the Roman Republic.

A black barber shop has started in our community bathroom. For awhile, it was something of a conspiracy. It was clear that someone was cutting hair, but our worry had to do with WHAT kind of hair it was. To us, short, course, black hairs meant only one thing: fucking pubes. So we kept our eyes open, manning our little see-holes in our doors, keeping an eye out for anyone with a pair of scissors. Days passed, and yet more and more pubes clogged the drain on the floor of the bathroom. But before we made bushes mandatory throughout the building, I walked into the bathroom and happened to catch a black guy with what I thought was a nifty razor applying it to his friend's head. Case closed. I'm thinking about asking him to get rid of my wicked side-burns, but I'm a little scared. There's only a handful of barbers and lumberjacks who can deal with my mop. I have broken razors before. The memory is a little dim, but I remember the sound of hair clogging the razor, kind of like the sound you hear when you're racing down a hill on your bike and your pant leg gets caught in the chain, and the smell of smoke. I felt like fucking Samson. SEND ALL YOUR RAZORS!!!!!

It's been awhile since my last post. School got a little tough over the last seven days. I had a lot of tests and due dates, but I made it out okay, and I'm glad I can do this again. I'm thinking about entering a campus literature contest. Problem is, all submissions have to be under 1000 words. Shit, these posts average about 1500 words! I guess that's the challege of art, though. That's what makes it prize worthy. It has to be fine tuned, hand crafted, revised-every word chosen carefully and for the full effect.

Being a writer, I think, must either be really easy or really hard. To find out, I went to a reading at our main library. I think I was the only person there without either a grand kid or a suit. Normally, I would have felt a little sheepish, but the reading sucked, so I see my comfort as a consolation prize. I mean, really, who ARE the people that review and publish books? I don't think I'm a completely stupid human being, but some books out there are just TERRIBLE. The guy was going for some kind of experimental cred. He wrote an epistolary novel in a unique style and form. The thing was a bunch of like four sentence letters, most from his childhood self, to people on the most inane, boring, maudlin, bleak, crap. I know that meaning and story telling are very subtle, nuanced, and indirect in good literature, and I know how writing is all about breaking conventions, deconstructivism, post-modernism and all that perplexing junk now, but I just can't see how four sentences about a bag of used condoms, an apartment, and sheets over windows is good story telling. Am I supposed to be shocked by the condoms? Is that edgy? Most of the people in the room thought so, judging by their reactions to the author's words. There seems to almost be an elephant in the room with this kind of stuff. Maybe I should ease up. Perhaps the rest of the novel turned it around. Still, 50 minutes of crap?

I've thought about becoming a writer before. I think you have to be kind of arrogant, though. Surely, no one thinks that anyone gives two shits about what they think at age 19!? That must come later. The ego needs to take root first, I bet.

Nick asked me what I'd do if I had 100 billion dollars, and I couldn't answer him. If I could do ANYTHING I want, I really have no idea what it would be. So I passed and let him answer. If I remember correctly, he would drop half of it on Italian clothes and the other on Starbucks stock, just so he could own it and get it free of charge. I guess I'd give a couple million or so to each of my friends and family members so that they never had to worry about money again. As for the rest, I guess I'd throw it at one or several causes. First among them would have to be a wildlife fund like WWF or NWF or even a forest conservation group. I'd probably save some to buy food for starving people, but I think, by fixing one ecological crisis, you begin to fix others. I'm sure the WWF or NWF would use my money to pay farmers subsidies and supply them with the latest technology so that they could produce enough food and leave forests alone. After all the big spending, I'd save just enough to disappear. I'm thinking a Greek island, U.P. cottage, or spacious penthouse, maybe all three. What I do know, privacy would be key. I'd buy all the books, mags, movies, and music I wanted, and probably spend my time browsing through that stuff.

Geez, I wish I had more to write about, yet you can only squeeze a sponge so much until it needs to be replenished, and MSU is Death Valley. I'd do an extra hour of homework every night for an extra story per week or an extra person to talk to. Even I can't stand my rambling musings on life and shit for too long. Maybe when I get a little more arrogant, I'll be able to.