Sunday, July 09, 2006
It made my early evening to read about Nietzsche's criticism of Poe (specifically, "The Raven") as too depressing and as a willing victim to poetic formality. Reading this book about Nietzschean poetry has also induced me to add, "Es gibt kein Ziel!" to my stockpile of answers for the ever-constant hounding: "Classics and German... so... what are you going to do with that?" Ich weiß nicht. Vielleicht nichts. Perhaps I'll publish literature with regard to Nietzschean poetry... or the ungeheuerlich blister on the pad of my foot that erupted last night in so much pus and needling pain.
It made my early evening yesterday when Bianca called from the office with a crisis: one of the little girls in the volleyball camp had not been able to sleep the night previously, for written on the ceiling above her delicate little head, in glow-in-the-dark letters, glared the word, "FUCK". It occurred to my mind that, had I been a ten year-old at volleyball camp, I would have been the kid whispering, "Hey, Peggy Sue- come give me a boost so I can write 'FUCK' on the ceiling in glow-in-the-dark letters!" Es ist traurig, daß heute die Kinder phantasielos sind.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:02 PM]