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Nov. 10th, 2003 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taratemimaI tend to have brillant ideas that disspate after time.
Like this long essay where I linked this lengthy critique of Brave New World to my personal fears about SSRI drugs and some fears I think are way off base. For instance, I wonder if I will still feel if I take them. On the other hand, I don't want to feel bad for long periods of time and be so down that I do nothing about it. I wonder also if using them will be sufficient for memory and attention, or if I will need to consider Ritalin or some other prescription for that.
Among people who are raising unreasonable fears rather than some measured criticism would be members of a certain sue-happy celebrity cult that I am incorporating in my Unknown Armies campaign. On the way, though, I will need to finish the second chapter of my novel, the sixth part of the short story and find a good start for the fourth story in the Les Clowns de la Mort thingy (cracked out slash epic that was started just a year and two weeks ago).
I have a habit of throwing everything I enjoy into my projects. This is one example.
I also still need to finish books and start books. My intellectual education since college has been spotting. You know what I've been reading? No One Here Gets Out Alive. I bloody dislike the Doors, too. I guess it was because I was more in love with idea of being a widely read, deep thinking drunken troublemaker. I had this person in my head saying "I'm like Jim Morrison. Except without the leather pants, the long hair, the screaming girls, the grave in Paris or even that annoying keyboardist. I'm just a drunken office worker who reads too much Ginsburg and Heinlein. I wanted to be Dionysus, so when did I become Vulcan again?" He's my age, my hair color, fat too. Male version of me. I named him Tristan.
So, anyway, I am not well-read enough.
Also, someone went to the Pit of Voles and typed Clay Aiken in the search engine. Mind you, my musical tastes are less mainstream, but it seems like an experiment. Whether I will spork my eyes out or not remains to be seen.
Like this long essay where I linked this lengthy critique of Brave New World to my personal fears about SSRI drugs and some fears I think are way off base. For instance, I wonder if I will still feel if I take them. On the other hand, I don't want to feel bad for long periods of time and be so down that I do nothing about it. I wonder also if using them will be sufficient for memory and attention, or if I will need to consider Ritalin or some other prescription for that.
Among people who are raising unreasonable fears rather than some measured criticism would be members of a certain sue-happy celebrity cult that I am incorporating in my Unknown Armies campaign. On the way, though, I will need to finish the second chapter of my novel, the sixth part of the short story and find a good start for the fourth story in the Les Clowns de la Mort thingy (cracked out slash epic that was started just a year and two weeks ago).
I have a habit of throwing everything I enjoy into my projects. This is one example.
I also still need to finish books and start books. My intellectual education since college has been spotting. You know what I've been reading? No One Here Gets Out Alive. I bloody dislike the Doors, too. I guess it was because I was more in love with idea of being a widely read, deep thinking drunken troublemaker. I had this person in my head saying "I'm like Jim Morrison. Except without the leather pants, the long hair, the screaming girls, the grave in Paris or even that annoying keyboardist. I'm just a drunken office worker who reads too much Ginsburg and Heinlein. I wanted to be Dionysus, so when did I become Vulcan again?" He's my age, my hair color, fat too. Male version of me. I named him Tristan.
So, anyway, I am not well-read enough.
Also, someone went to the Pit of Voles and typed Clay Aiken in the search engine. Mind you, my musical tastes are less mainstream, but it seems like an experiment. Whether I will spork my eyes out or not remains to be seen.
