Event, or a lack thereof

Sunday, October 28, 2018

The only time I felt like turning to this page was when I was reading a summarization of Foucaultian event, and now's just as good a time as any to discuss events.

Events pertaining to the ongoing Venus retrograde (who are you and what have you done to the person writing this page?), the deadline that I've been talking about for a month (and doing nothing about), the post-human condition of men (being apologetic about who they are inherently but not making any amends to that behaviour), and the weighing scale (which has been tipping on the wrong side for over a month).

Most of these go right back to when I decided to take a fucking break and call it an academic event. Aka Snobster goes to Europe.

What is it about an event that marks its uniqueness? Is it the stand it takes from being away from the regular, where all you do is repeat your actions until something interrupts? Is it the intervention by external force or agency that changes the regular, the banal into something else and transforms the normal into extraordinary? Does that qualify as an event or retrograde or even testing times?

Also, why the negative connotation, you'd ask.

Unfortunately, you'll not receive upon asking here. Just now or just ever. You'd have to do more than asking. A Cuban sandwich is a good starting point. As is a massage.

But of course the technology in my life doesn't think so.

The Medium is the motherfucking Massage

If this is an indication of the state of affairs then this is just as good as any cry for help. I'm not sure what I should be doing but I do know what I shouldn't be doing.

Putting things off.

Last time I put practicing bass off, it took over five years, and one inch long nails to respond to that. I picked bass when I returned from London, determined to play again. And so I did.

I did for a week until I realized I had an academic deadline and put that off. Then I proceeded to put that academic deadline off, in pursuit to get over the jet lag. I also put off complaining to the airlines who fucked my luggage over despite paying a bomb and getting my arse flown in and out of the country through premiere airlines. So much for solo travel and wanderfuck.

As I sat down to hammer out a few words (as few as 200 to meet the deadline), I stopped at 9 and proceeded to call four different people. I dug out three old cinema readers, lamented why I decided to pursue television when I clearly am not well versed with it, felt like cheating on my diet with chowmein but stopped short because I took a bite of the chocolate muffin. Who am I kidding, it was half a muffin and I had rajma chawal for dinner which meant I ate dinner for four people. 2300 calories at best and this has been minimum for a week. What will the weighing scale even do?

What I'm trying to say is, this academia is hard. Losing weight is hard. Keeping up with people and taking their shit is hard.

We know what happens when things get hard. I abandon them.

Ask the last guy who found himself hard around me. He'll tell you all about it.

I'm kidding.

But no, I did stop short of giving him a head. Because hard.

This didn't happen if you're my mom. Or dad. Does my dad read this page? I don't know.

Anyway, I'm on to entertaining friends who have decided to involve me in post-karwachauth hang despite the absence of any significant being in my life. If that isn't an event to write about, then I don't know what is.

This paper can go write itself. As can this page. The bass will also play itself. The PhD will do itself. The man with a hard on? Well, he had to handle it himself.

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