And for the liberal egoist what is more delightful than meaningfulness?
It is what he buys when he buys a ticket to a Wes Anderson film, it is what he buys when he buys into the New York Times, it is what he buys after he has decided to give up and feels guilty for doing so: something easy, something that condemns everyone but him, something that justifies his own life by aestheticizing it, something that says life is hard without making it much harder, that which returns him back into the flow of things unperturbed, but with something else to say, to someone, after work, at the bar, an opinion, a feeling, a defense, whatever.
Lazy Saturday. Let’s talk.
I just finished Leaving Atocha Station and started The Trial. Thinking about picking up some Sheila Heti, or re-reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I also recently had a craving for some Murakami. Anyone have any good book suggestions?
Alternately, tell me about the last time you went swimming.