Two Political Paragraphs Ending in Cynicism

i.
Politics: Hillary Clinton and Barak Obama are both excellent choices (Obama more so) for the Democratic nomination. Either one appears to be capable of beating John McCain and hopefully changing the direction of this countries’ leadership. This in mind, both candidates should be careful not to mistake each other for the enemy. The only way that Democrats could lose the 2008 election is by political infighting and the disorganization it leads to. I suspect one tactic of those who do not wish to see either candidate win is to play up the divide between these candidates a la Brad and Jen, Paris and Nicole, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson, etc. One wins and the other loses while in reality both lose as the media sets the tone, writes the story, and solutions to our current political situation gets lost in the hype. God bless the hype. After all, how could we avoid ourselves without it?

ii.
Equality leads to competition and competition inevitably leads to conflict. After spending a year in Japan, a place where homogeneity is generally a positive cultural norm, I came to appreciate the peace of sameness, a peace all but impossible in the United States, seemingly. Then again, if all the same mass produced products are available to us throughout the entire country, the same stores and the same streets, couldn’t we achieve a peace (at the economic expense of small countries) through intensive homogenization? That globalization will actually lead us one step closer to communism in the sense that Marx’s vision prescribes all industry to come under state control (corporations) before they be turned over to the people. That a massive consolidation and single mindedness is the first step towards moving away from the short comings of capitalism, thus the ugliness of a Home Depot just outside of Baltimore, is actually a harbinger of communist revolution. Thank god for all the craft makers living in Brooklyn so that we may preserve our human souls!

Last night at the corner store I found a box of cereal and a half gallon of milk and paid for it with a ten dollar bill. The clerk gave me change but too much, he gave back thirteen dollars and some change net gain three dollars a half gallon of milk and a box of cereal. In the past I've always said, sir, you've given me the wrong amount of change and tried to feel good about my morality something something good but this time, a little tired from my day and not really wanting to rock any boat, do any good or bad, acknowledged the fact that he gave me the wrong change and walked out, wondering why exactly I didn't say anything. I asked my roommate what this meant and she responded that maybe this was a reflection of a more intuitive way of living but maybe it was just so I could write about it assumption of the common good it was yesterday I went up to the headlands above is not the only thing I saw today is another week of classes I slept well last night.

To react and respond. To keep going or not at all. This kind of writing as a form a meditation, to watch thoughts come and go, to be able to shift between perspectives a sign of health; thus it becomes necessary to write through patches of doubt. Last Tuesday, almost half the class didn’t show and I found this…discouraging.

The goal is to respond, to not be caught up in a premeditated program or meaning but it comes back to this: what I would say to my class about last week, about anxieties about being too soft or permissive. Anxieties about not being a good teacher; about not being good. It’s almost as if my frustration with trying to solve for x is the problem, my relationship to “problems”.

There is a rhythm to my thoughts a particular length of the line. The other day I was talking with a friend about Nietzsche, this idea that tragedy is actually comedy if we distance ourselves. Instead, to push forward with our will “to power”, the thing in front of our mind but what N. doesn’t speak of is the clarity needed to realize this will.

For example the misguided push of the Nazis, a mistake in thinking one wants to rule the world; caught up in false images the tip of their tongue layered in neurosis and dirt, failed reconstruction and low self-esteem. That clarity does not come from a supreme vision but from the everyday, finally, testing and adjusting.

A seagull stretches its wings in the air, flaps twice and disappears from view. The brooding woman has now shifted into the sun a jacket over her head headphones in her ears. Now I’m thinking about the weekend, schoolwork and Sunday, going up to the headlands to visit a friend and the beach. I don’t know what else to say this seems like a good place to stop.