MIND: Reformed

The civilized man is a more experienced and wiser savage.

Walden // Henry David Thoreau

MIND: Autopilot

“I remember saying things, but I have no idea what was said.
It was generally a friendly conversation.”

Associated Press reporter Jack Sullivan, attempting to recount a 3 A.M. exchange we had at a dinner party and inadvertently describing the past ten years of my life.

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto // Chuck Klosterman

MIND: Conformity

Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other.

We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that musty old cheese that we are. We have had to agree on a certain set of rules, called etiquette and politeness, to make this frequent meeting tolerable and that we need not come to open war.

We meet at the post office, and at the sociable, and at the fireside every night; we live thick and are in each other’s way, and stumble over one another, and I think that we thus lose some respect for one another.

Walden // Henry David Thoreau

MIND: Ingrained

Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it.

Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else.

You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.

The Robber Bride // Margaret Atwood

MIND: Vision

You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.

Ways of Seeing // John Berger

MIND: Retire

If ever I am independent, I will instantly retire to some solitude; I will see no one, not even you, and there I will live until the horrible disgust I feel at all that is human be somewhat removed by quiet and retirement. My heart is too full of hatred.

// Mary Shelley, from a letter to Marianne Hunt

MIND: Sliced

…I’ve never felt good with the crowd. I never belonged, I still do not belong, but the worst part is I do not even belong with the best ones, the living ones. I seem sliced off forever by some god damn trick, either my imagining or some type of insanity, but even the good ones leave me dangling and I feel like a fool, and I know that I am a fool for I feel what I know…

Screams From The Balcony // Charles Bukowski