1. 9 days before i leave Ultima Thule i have a date with Juniper, the lovely MILF receptionist at work – a modestly sexy coffee tomorrow afternoon. i tried to tie her down to a particular date.
She hummed and hawed: “I prefer spontaneous coffee, if we both finish work at the same time, then we can go for a spontaneous coffee. We tried to find a time. But it did not happen…”
“Spontaneous coffee is fine if we’re both here for another five years but in 9 days the chances are slim,” i said, gravely.
Earlier i had noted that i have discovered a really cool pub, just two weeks before leaving UT forever. “i never realised there were all these cool places in Ultima Thule,” i moaned.
“Well, you know Ultima Thule is not like Munich,” she said, hesitantly. “It is not a very cool town.”
“Yes but there are some cool places. This happens to me everywhere i live, i find cool places just before i leave forever.”
“But when you are new in a place there is no urgency, you think you have forever. In your last days you are more concentrated,” she said, with a wry look.
This is true for emotions and desires also. Romantic love, for example, or the desire for vengeance, are concentrated and lit by time limits, earthly constraints. And vice versa – in love, you feel, very acutely, that she will die, that you don’t have much time; even if you have several decades, you don’t have much time. It is natural that philosophers have often favoured boys and MILF, those whose bloom is of relatively short duration. There is little time for one’s desire. It is in this sense that one can understand Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s critique of the 47 Ronin.
2. Today the Viking is viewing a flat in Munich. There must be something wrong with it, as it’s been on the market for a couple of weeks, and the landlady just posted a new ad, lowering the bond by 100 €. If i can’t find a bearable flat i will crash with the Viking in Würzburg (his current ‘hood) and seek Munich accommodation from there. i will, i think, cancel or try to freeze my medical insurance, as 600 €/month is insane for a man on precisely zero Euros a month. The situation is pretty grim, albeit not as horrible as in Kiel last year, as i now know i can at least teach English, whereas then i thought i was hopeless and absolutely useless at everything, thanks to i_____a, my first employer/exploiter. But if i don’t get enough work almost immediately in April, i am fucked beyond redemption.
Grim as it is, i have a good feeling about Munich, as i had a bad feeling about X-burg (Erfurt, in fact). With horrible age i increasingly trust these inexplicable feelings. i don’t like big cities and i don’t like expensive cities and i don’t like the idea of Bavarians
but i nonetheless have a peculiarly good feeling about Munich. These feelings will not stand up to examination but since they have always served me well i continue to obey them. One thing is sure – with the Viking at my side, all will be well. The man is a hardcore sexual maniac and badass Roman Catholic, he has a huge unregulated Moses beard and he is permanently armed. i will use him to destroy my foes and subdue cities and nations and peoples, while i stay at home getting drunk and writing great novels on my body in marker pen.
Also, Bavaria shouldn’t be wholly bad. One of my perverted students said Bavarian girls are very very pretty, or very very ugly (apparently, the ugly ones are born of incest). If i can avoid the very very ugly ones, Munich should be interesting. Also, someone described Bavarians as being akin to Yorkshiremen, and as a true plain-spoken West Yorkshireman i hope to feel at least temporarily at home there.
Being Yorkshire is a state of mind; one must, of course, have been born and raised in Yorkshire, preferably West Yorkshire, but sometimes honorary Yorkshireness may be extended to individuals from neighbouring counties, such as Cumbria and Finland. Any real curmudgeon can apply for Yorkshire statue, if he is willing to demonstrate his loathing of big cities, hippies, apple polishers, dolts, dullards, churls, unduly small dogs, horrible cats, the dative, concrete, burqas, traffic, Literary Theory, tourists, academia, modern r & b, beetroot, Tuesdays, overdue emphasis on Tyr, silly hats, New Age shite, Leeds, chavs, Muslims of the loud shouty exploding variety, stale bread, foul women, dwarves, modern translations of the Bible, modernity in general, roads, shitty German techno, fingernail clippings in your tea, Communism/Socialism, having to pay tax to fund hippies, unripe pineapples, torn jeans, loud neighbours, graffiti, etc. etc. Here is a typical honorary Yorkshireman, Jack the Poacher from Withnail and I – he appears 2.05 minutes in:
3. i am starting to enjoy Slavoj Zizek’s book Living in the End Times but i do wish he would stop banging on about Jacques Lacan. Every couple of pages he references Lacan like a poodle looking anxiously to its master. i imagine Zizek is far more intelligent & learned than me, but he has a flawed character; he too often displays the impulse to name-check, to flourish academic jargon. He reminds me of a charlatan magician, wearing a black velvet cloak covered with sigils and what have you; he waves his magic wand; he wears a daunting top hat; he is liberally festooned with sorcerous adornments and gimcracks. A philosopher cannot get very far by this road. The true philosophenweg is small and nondescript; it is quiet, out of the way; it does not draw attention to itself with arcane dealings & ballyhoo.
i intensely distrust repeated name-checking. This is one of many reasons i recoil somewhat from Wittgensteinians, who, while undoubtedly much more intelligent & learned than me, commit a primary error: they suppose Wittgenstein was a prophet, that he possessed the truth, and so they try to work out what he would say in such and such a situation, what he really meant. It is one thing to do research, because a particular writer interests one; it is another to slavishly obey another’s real or supposed verdicts. This is a profound character flaw and will inhibit the mind, howsoever powerful it may be; and this is one reason not to linger overlong in academia, where such worship is common.
i think i can safely say that Zizek is not from Yorkshire: