A (not so) heroic return

Like those famous transient edifices in Teshigahara’s 1964 “Woman of the Dunes,” I’ve shifted about constantly these past two years. I am still attending the same university, in the same program, in pursuit of┬ásome of the same lifelong goals I’ve been chasing down for three and a half years. Moving forward, staying in the same place. One and the same. Godot.

I’ve learned much from upper level university courses, from written narrative, and films. I’ve learned to scorn much of my past writing on this blog and on others, and to appreciate some with a more objective stance rendered me through the expanse of time. But during all of this self-discovery and self-creation, moving toward ideals and dismissing them, my writing has suffered.

So here I am. Or rather, here is the constructed, electronic assemblage of a person. The media-image whose potential hype is constituted by a lack of direct presence. The human embrace is dead, Debord’s spectacle lives. A few might warmly receive me again here, and I value them greatly for such sentiment. The vast majority, however, will not. Now is time to reconstitute the old sans limiting the new: dialectical construction from the bottom-up and top-down.

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