‘Wenn ich schreibe, stehe ich einer Katastrophe gegenüber: Ich habe immer den Eindruck, ein Dilettant zu sein, dass ich nicht schreiben kann, dass ich nicht Deutsch kann, dass ich keine Einfälle habe, dass ich vor dem Nichts stehe.’
The sunset is attenuated as it pierces through the rush hour smog. Your cell phone signal is attenuated as it bounces up the canyons. Dreams are attenuated as they grind through the celebrity machine.
The process of attenuation is this city’s preferred method of chaos, because it is a delicate rhythm of scattering and absorption. Of all the flavors of entropy, attenuation renders the most graceful patterns of annihilation.
Every now and then, when your life gets complicated and the weasels start
closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then
drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas … with the music at
top volume and at least a pint of ether.
Hunter S. Thompson, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”
Each of these lives is the right one! Every path is the right path!
Everything could have been anything else and it would have just as much meaning.
From the film “Mr. Nobody” — attributed to Tennessee Williams
[…] Intention isn’t supposed to matter, of course: how one “feels” at any given moment is the sum total of human endeavor, a custom religion, and to deny your primacy in the universe is the Ur-Crime tantamount to suicide. There is no past, and no future, just momentary stimuli which much be responded to. But I make things too, on occasion, and so for me there are nested aesthetics here: we have craft, and we have taste. I can recognize that seawater sorbet is an interesting, intentionally elemental food without wanting to eat it. And I can see the particular coordinate of Dishonored, and appreciate its pluck and lineage, without especially wanting to go there.
Tycho from Penny Arcade