21 September 2010

i would make a seriously sucky historian

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Just as with my impeccable sense of direction that is accompanied by a stultifying lack of proficiency in expressing it, so too do all the impressive particulars of retelling anything elude me. There is, and always has been, a marked disinclination to put up with people's thing about the stats, the critical-to-mental-sidetrips, to beside-the-point names for things. I fully expect people to read my tone and my gesticulating and the directions my thrusts point to understand the vital stuff, and erudite types, particularly men, are constantly trying to bring me up short to provide the specs they find reveal the clues as to how much stock they should put in what I'm telling them.

I want to swat them every time because they want the fluff that lets them place things into some bent hierarchy of what's okay to consider and what defies utterly meaningless and too often outright psychedelic consensus. They are unerringly more interested in positioning themselves within the consensus than getting at reality, the truth. But it also makes me wail for the ability to hold that crap in mind so I can sound like I know what I'm talking about when I know what I'm talking about... and they so don't. I know that all that crap just drops off into the ether because it IS crap, and the crucial part is getting to the kernel, the actuality, which all that crap masks, but, even so, it might be nice to establish some bona fides before I dispense with the idiot-pleasing crap and get down to cases.

A hand must reach out from my books to throttle readers, or there's no point in writing them.

love, 99

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