Who am I

by practicalspactical

Ifindmyselfaskingnow and again as I’ve left the streams and rivers of tumultous childhood, youth, adolescence, and find myself now in a flimsy craft in the great ocean of the rest of my life.

I am working a lot. Other people’s projects, which is nice and liberating. Marx never talked about the great pyschological soothing that comes from alienating one’s self from one’s labor.

Perhaps I am not fully actualized. Nevertheless, it is pleasant to turn time into stuff without having to have made the stuff ourselves. Thus — the postmodern trap. The Matrix sucking us in. Simulations. These hands, these appendages, the rawness of our resources — hidden behind the curtain, shipped overseas to Chinese workshops — Foxconn, and factory campuses and the Second Industrial Revolution — whereas I, more clever, or more educated, or having found something narrower to do, moves around logic gates & electrons across sculptures made of sand —

Not really. I touch the very fabric of the law, of power, to shift the world in little ways — modal logic, and its inevitable progeny, responsibility.

Who am I, though? The alienation makes myself an appendage — my cleverness belongs to someone something else — what do I believe? What do I believe in? In Philadelphia now, but what next — how will I conquer it? Bored? Maybe. Not bored. Distracted.

Giving up women for lent. Need to pause and catch my breath. Who am I?

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