Et asteur

So I am ready, and going en ville, and I am awake.

Maringouin feels tomblike and I feel apologetic about noticing this. So many desire it and cannot wait to get home. I, too, am grateful for it after visiting yet more desolate places but the fact remains that for me, arrival here is like opening a vein. Stay too long and you bleed out.

I must remember that I have given up on adjusting further and have committed to Occupying this space. Breathing life into it. Just outside these nostalgic and artificially preserved parishes life runs on in a lively stream.

It is not just the oppressiveness of the institution, it is that the micro-region looks backward, and is interested in the embalmed corpse of a culture rather than historical research or living life.

And this job reminds me of my first one in many ways and what shocked me about the first one was that it appeared that so many people not quite 30 years old were already trying to lie down in their graves.

I am clearly not suited to be an academic because a true intellectual is immune to their surroundings. They create their great works in a vacuum. They are ethereal beings, seraphs. This is not true.



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