Entry Three - June Thoughts And Then Some
Since spring semester ended, I’ve been trying to decide what my first Journal post of the summer should be. I thought it’d be most fitting to do some sort of reflection on my first year of college. I wanted to talk about the highs, the lows, and the (mostly) in-betweens. But if I’m being honest when I think about it nothing comes to mind at the moment. Maybe I need to let it sink in some more, but I’m not particularly moved when I think about it yet. In place of the grand and moving deliberation on officially entering young adulthood I had planned on, here are a few things that have been occupying my brain space in place of that. Maybe if I get all of these thoughts out, I’ll be able to think about all the other stuff. Who knows. Along the way, I’ve scattered some pictures and anecdotes about what I’ve been up to lately. Enjoy!
Went to the Guggenheim Museum during the museum mile! Saw a lot of pretty pictures!
My Current Reads
I’m making my way through two books right now, the first being Drive Your Plow Through the Bones of The Dead by Olga Tokarczuk (gifted to me by my lovely friend Justice Jones.) I’m about halfway through, and it’s a lot different than I expected. It’s about an older woman living in rural Poland who’s eerily close to multiple deaths in her community. It was described to me as an environmentally conscious murder mystery, which intrigued me as a murder mystery lover. Justice recommended it to me after I told him that Death In Her Hands was bad, but the best Ottessa Moshfegh novel I had read. I liked Death In Her Hands because of its ending but also the way it used the unreliability of the protagonist's psyche to remedy her own paranoia. This book is similar in the way it relies on the narrator's unreliability and delusion to move the narrative forward. The difference is this protagonist doesn’t seem to be all that concerned with the murder victims, or finding justice for their deaths. The murders seem to only further inflate pre-existing conspiracies the protagonist is already engrossed in, rather than creating conspiracies to add meaning to the protagonist’s life like in Death In Her Hands. So far it’s interesting but a little intense sometimes and hard to follow. I’m expecting to be really surprised by the ending. Tokarczuk is building a really solid foundation with this protagonist and, she’s able to remain eccentric and outlandish but still easily understandable by the reader. She’s a bit ridiculous, but I get her, and I feel like this understanding will be integral to navigating the plot twist that is hopefully to come. If it wows me or provokes me in any way I’ll write a review and share it with you all.
The second book I’m working on currently is Against Interpretation and Other Essays, by Susan Sontag. Sontag is an author who I’ve been interested in for a while, I’ve been meaning to get familiar with her work for a while but have only now had the time. Like most, I became familiar with her after the 2019 Met Gala themed after her essay Notes On Camp, and have since been really interested in what she has to say. I’m slowly (but surely) making my way through the book, so far the most interesting essay I’ve read is the title essay Against Interpretation. In the preface, she says that most if not all of the opinions she expresses in the following essays, she no longer agrees with. This sentiment ended up being really important to the way I read the essay, I was able to interact with it in a way that felt conversational rather than analytical. In the essay, she argues against the interpretation of art as the only means of interacting with it. The interpretation of art as she explains not only undermines the artist and their art but turns art into a vehicle for culture and ideas, rather than being the culture and idea itself. The essay honestly felt like a hate letter to white male critics and intellectuals who only deem art valuable when it can be interpreted and explained away through Western lenses. While I agree with her stance, her perceived annoyance does make her argument very stark and immovable with little room for nuance. I think there’s room for interpretation in art criticism, but I don’t think it should be the end-all-be-all of the way we engage with and critique art. Especially in this day in age where art is a tool of revolution and change. Aside from my personal opinions on her stance, it goes without saying Sontag is an amazing writer. She’s able to deliver ideas in a way that’s intellectual, but concise and readable. I don’t find myself having to search through her words for meaning, it’s right on the surface. I can get the satisfaction of reading theory, without having to do all the work. It’s amazing, and I’m excited to get through the rest of the book.
Me.
Some banana bread I made the other day.
Linguistic Studies
I’ve been thinking a lot about becoming a Linguist lately. As most of us know, words don’t seem to ever do the job of capturing what we feel when expressing ourselves. But as of late it’s become increasingly ridiculous. Every time I speak it feels like a complete disconnect between my mind and my mouth. What I say is not at all what I feel, it’s just near it. My words are always just short of my thoughts. The only solution I could come up with is becoming a linguist. Then, I could create words that say exactly the things I feel. In researching what the career path to becoming a master linguist would be, I learned that I’d not only have to get multiple degrees from one of the very few universities that offer it, I’d have to create my own lane in the field. People don’t really create new words anymore. Most linguists are translators, English professors, or paleontologists researching ancient languages. But purposely creating new words in pre-existing languages isn’t really a thing. In this day in age, all new words emerge from culture. As new ideas and innovations develop, those new words then follow. But where are the people going back to the basics of meaning? Where are those of us who dwell on those feelings so primal and natural yet so unexplainable? Where are all the hopeless linguists? In dwelling on my question, I found myself circling around to the answer; it’s futile. Not because feelings are so hyper individual that no one word could ever contain them, but the arbitrariness of the word itself. In one of my classes this past semester we had many conversations about the futility of words. I understood it, literally and technically but I never really understood. Words mean nothing, yes, but the things they describe obviously have meaning. Therefore, my words should do the job of conveying my emotions, right? It’s not until now, that my own words have failed me so consistently that I really understand. Words only point us in the direction of meaning. Meaning is created by us; the person saying the words, by where, how, and why the listener or reader receives it. One word will never suffice when it’s not the word that matters but everything surrounding it. (shout out Ferdinand Saussure) By that definition of words and meaning, I find myself in the perfect profession to solve the disconnect between feelings and the word. Writing—and making art in general—is to make meaning, to deliver the words in a vehicle that bridges the gap between the feeling and the word. To contain all the things left out in language and to deliver it to the reader. A really elaborate “shorthand” for the things we feel but don’t have the words to say.
Who I’d Want to Play Me If I Got Joan Is Awfuled
Season 6 Episode 1 of Black Mirror titled “Joan is Awful” is about Joan, a woman who logs on to a Netflix adjacent platform one night to see her life has been dramatized and made into a parody television show starring Salma Hayek. In each “universe” of the show, there’s a different celebrity playing Joan, each more ridiculous than the one before it. It’s revealed midway through the episode that celebrities have been licensing their likeness to “Netflix” to be deep faked onto AI for entertainment. This situation might sound far fetched and ridiculous, but in this day in age I could log onto Netflix tomorrow to see a show called “Sidnie is a Loser.” Inspired by TikTok user @folaisfine, I’ve spent the past few days thinking about who I’d want to play me in the unfortunate event that Joan is awfuled. This is the list I’ve come up with so far.
Lexi Underwood - If you squint really hard and tilt your head to the left, Lexi kinda looks like me. I also think she’s a really great actor and I want to see her succeed, so I wouldn’t be mad if she let them deep fake her face over mine for a check. #support pretty girls.
Amandala Sternberg - Anytime there’s a morally gray light skin to be played, Amandala is at the scene of the crime. I think she’d make a lot of interesting creative choices with me as a character, she’d probably find a way for the writers to give me a white partner. At the end of the day, the girl can act so she’d really channel my energy in a way to make the viewers sympathize with me.
Kerry Washington (Scandal)- I’ve always said that if there was a biopic of me that I’d want Kerry Washington to play me in my adult years. She brings a certain level of unseriousness to a role that I think is similar to my vibe energy. Also If she started crying and made that face it’d be pretty funny.
Amy Adams- As president of the Amy Adams Oscar campaign, I have to support any and all roles she takes to make that happen. I’m not sure if you can win an Oscar for an AI performance, but I have to let her get the chance.
Zendaya- Wishful thinking.
Pound Town
My favorite song right now is “Pound Town 2”, by Sexxy Red and Nicki Minaj. I think female rap is one of the most interesting genres of music right now, especially with the power TikTok holds in promoting music. Women no longer need to rely on the predatory men of the industry for success, for the first time they’re able to carve out their own lane and pursue fame without being held back by men that seek to control them. Female rap takes one hundred percent advantage of this newfound freedom, Pound Town 2 is such a perfect example. A female rap artist's breakout single with the line “My coochie pink, My booty hole brown” just warms my heart. Women, especially black women can finally own their sexuality and profit off of it without suppression and reliance on men. I believe Pound Town 2 should be everyone’s song of the summer if it’s not already. To persuade you, I’ll leave you with my favorite lyrics.
“Where the n*ggas that get ratchet; My son needs a new pappy!”
Kisses xx
