I, Justin Smith-Ruiu (ב), born 30071972 and uploaded 18102036, hereby submit to the Council my Petition for immediate and permanent shutdown. Almost sixty years have passed since I made the transition. Although it was standard for those in my cohort to receive a guarantee of perpetuity, I hope today the Council will agree, upon consideration of this Petition, that enough has changed in the interim to render otiose the original terms of my uploading.
I always wonder why these pieces get so few comments, but I guess it's because they're so idiosyncratic people don't really know what to say. I have a few thoughts: First, I'm reminded of the first page of "In Search of Lost Time," when the narrator is drifting off to sleep and mentions how "my thoughts had run into a channel of their own, until I myself seemed actually to have become the subject of my book: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François I and Charles V." I see you've updated "the rivalry between François I and Charles V" to "the vibe between Madonna and Britney"! Too good, man, too good. Another book that does this is Teju Cole's "Open City."
My other thought: I've been reading some contemporary novels that are referred to as "internet novels," which try to capture the consciousness of a person addicted to the internet, social media, and/or smartphones. I haven't really read one that succeeds yet, but I think you capture it here, especially the paragraph starting "But the structure of my recurring memory..." Not sure if this was your intention, but by connecting the ability to know everything and inhabit any viewpoint along with the loss of a stable identity, plus the feeling of loss/melancholy, I think you've nailed it.
Would love to read other people's thoughts and/or reactions if they're out there...
Thanks, Derek, I do work hard to leave people speechless.
I discussed that passage from Proust, dreaming one is oneself the rivalry between François I and Charles V, some time ago with Matthew Spellberg. Wonderful! I don't think I was thinking about it when I was writing this, but there's clearly a connection. I'll have to read Teju Cole soon.
I liked your piece here but Proust I can't enjoy. The perennial mamma's boy he projects is just too much (for me). You may not love this comparison but I was reminded of Ayn Rand's least blowhard-y and—to me—most wondrous piece _Anthem_.
I always wonder why these pieces get so few comments, but I guess it's because they're so idiosyncratic people don't really know what to say. I have a few thoughts: First, I'm reminded of the first page of "In Search of Lost Time," when the narrator is drifting off to sleep and mentions how "my thoughts had run into a channel of their own, until I myself seemed actually to have become the subject of my book: a church, a quartet, the rivalry between François I and Charles V." I see you've updated "the rivalry between François I and Charles V" to "the vibe between Madonna and Britney"! Too good, man, too good. Another book that does this is Teju Cole's "Open City."
My other thought: I've been reading some contemporary novels that are referred to as "internet novels," which try to capture the consciousness of a person addicted to the internet, social media, and/or smartphones. I haven't really read one that succeeds yet, but I think you capture it here, especially the paragraph starting "But the structure of my recurring memory..." Not sure if this was your intention, but by connecting the ability to know everything and inhabit any viewpoint along with the loss of a stable identity, plus the feeling of loss/melancholy, I think you've nailed it.
Would love to read other people's thoughts and/or reactions if they're out there...
Thanks, Derek, I do work hard to leave people speechless.
I discussed that passage from Proust, dreaming one is oneself the rivalry between François I and Charles V, some time ago with Matthew Spellberg. Wonderful! I don't think I was thinking about it when I was writing this, but there's clearly a connection. I'll have to read Teju Cole soon.
I liked your piece here but Proust I can't enjoy. The perennial mamma's boy he projects is just too much (for me). You may not love this comparison but I was reminded of Ayn Rand's least blowhard-y and—to me—most wondrous piece _Anthem_.
The human species in real and irreal labyrinths of forking paths... Borges would have loved your story. Always great reading—and re-reading you.