i think the less said about My Struggle the better. it’s the problem of not drawing attention to things that don’t merit attention. like certain presidential candidates. the impulse, of course, is to scream and shout that attention must not be paid to this undeserving thing or to that undeserving person. but the result is what? the good we want is undermined by our desperation to prevent the bad.
someone should develop a way to credit those who wield their power through silence and anonymity, those who know that saying nothing is the way to best narcissism. there should be a way to recognize these people, to spotlight their positions, to hold them up as examples. of course in this impulse we land again at the beginning of the paradox.
but i’m now reading The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. one chapter in and already i know this is going to be involved. some three things. first, i’m terribly prone to obsessions. some small, some super not small. i’m that person who is always finding the truth—in this book, in that painting, in the other conversation. what do you think happened after i met a fruititarian? acute stomach pain is what happened. or when i heard about barefoot running? i was obliged to run really a lot of miles. it’s dilettantism through and through, but what can you do? not upend your entire life and not completely reconfigure your sacred beliefs every time someone casually mentions astral projection? as if.
so that’s the first thing. the second thing is chicago, a city i am trying so hard to love and that has a history like a loose thread: you pull and it doesn’t end. the third thing, of course, is the killing. on that matter, at least emotionally, i side with this kid.
more another time; i’m off to nashville.