visiting the bubble of oxford once more, with vested interest now, is stirring memories and visions of bumming around ucl halls when that was a thing i did. quite pleasant, but something about my distance from it makes it hard to connect. i guess it was naievity, but i don’t have the same openness i once did. too busy acting grown up, pretending i know what i want. like knowing that i can jump out this window here, land safely, roll on the floor and request my drink be passed to me, makes me less inclined to do so. i felt the same visiting the tate modern last week, realising that if i devoted my attention to any piece i could appreciate at least part of the artist’s intention, but i didn’t want to. yellow plastic toilet. goddam bullshit piece of crap. hehe. relaxing and refreshing to feel qualified to have a derogatory opinion, though. everything is everything. By giving us the opinions of the uneducated, journalism keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community. a sense of superiority needs gentle nurturing, but it’s fun while it lasts.
goddam you got yr clothes off? i ain’t even poured the liquor yet, you must be a vet..