You Know You're Fucked When ...

You know you're a lit student when you take a break from reading linguistics, only to listen to T.S. Eliot reading "Prufrock" (if you're that way inclined, the reading is found here). And proceed to squeel delightedly when you discover a piece of very structured literature you can critique on DA. It's called The Fractal Man, by Bulknowt on DA. It's short and intriguing, and reminds me a bit of Emerson, in that it is poetry in prose - though less nonsensical than some of Emerson's ramblings.

At times like these I revert to classical music, Bach in particular. He doesn't demand that I listen to him, like vocals do. And his cello suites are magnificent. Which reminds me of a blog I discovered the other day. I confess, I am a million internet-years behind, but when I do find things I enjoy them thoroughly (procrastination works so much better when there's something online to employ!). Stuff White People Like makes me simultaneously want to aquire pigmentation and be proud that I at least have some irony. Out of the list of some hundred posts, I am sure 98 apply to me. White, who, me?

And Time wrote very favourably of Roberto Bolano in one of the latest issues. So I think I might have to find something by him when I'm done with this exam nonsense.

You Know You're Fucked When ...

You know you're a lit student when you take a break from reading linguistics, only to listen to T.S. Eliot reading "Prufrock" (if you're that way inclined, the reading is found here). And proceed to squeel delightedly when you discover a piece of very structured literature you can critique on DA. It's called The Fractal Man, by Bulknowt on DA. It's short and intriguing, and reminds me a bit of Emerson, in that it is poetry in prose - though less nonsensical than some of Emerson's ramblings.

At times like these I revert to classical music, Bach in particular. He doesn't demand that I listen to him, like vocals do. And his cello suites are magnificent. Which reminds me of a blog I discovered the other day. I confess, I am a million internet-years behind, but when I do find things I enjoy them thoroughly (procrastination works so much better when there's something online to employ!). Stuff White People Like makes me simultaneously want to aquire pigmentation and be proud that I at least have some irony. Out of the list of some hundred posts, I am sure 98 apply to me. White, who, me?

And Time wrote very favourably of Roberto Bolano in one of the latest issues. So I think I might have to find something by him when I'm done with this exam nonsense.

(no subject)

It's good to know that I haven't buried my emotions so completely in self-control, that I cannot still rage about things occasionally. I am furious with the faculty, the language programme, and most of all the hellish thing called exfac. I want to scream "fuck it all" at the top of my lungs, go jogging and listen to very angry, very hard music. But I can't. Because I can't take seven exams next semester, I just can't. Not alongside work. And I haven't the time to go jogging to furious music. If I did I would most likely sprain an ancle, because I can't run on ice.

And even if I do a double major entirely in Eng. lit., I get no more than a lit course more per year. I am so frustrated with this useless degree. And I wish I had gone to Oxford, where the BA is so extensive you're automatically awarded an MA after a set number of years. Unless you've acquired one in the field already, of course. Here, I get a useless BA and get to bore my ass of while doing so. Oh, the joy. I need to scream, and I can't do that here, there are too many people.

I feel sorry for the people I'm meeting tomorrow, I will not be a pleasant asset to a study group. Nor will I be pleasant to customers at work. I think I'll make the tag "fucking BA" a recurring thing, so I can look back at it when I'm done in two and a half years, point and laugh at all the poor undergrads walking into the hell I've completed. Why can't anyone get me a course where I get to read critical theory and have heated debates?

(no subject)

It's good to know that I haven't buried my emotions so completely in self-control, that I cannot still rage about things occasionally. I am furious with the faculty, the language programme, and most of all the hellish thing called exfac. I want to scream "fuck it all" at the top of my lungs, go jogging and listen to very angry, very hard music. But I can't. Because I can't take seven exams next semester, I just can't. Not alongside work. And I haven't the time to go jogging to furious music. If I did I would most likely sprain an ancle, because I can't run on ice.

And even if I do a double major entirely in Eng. lit., I get no more than a lit course more per year. I am so frustrated with this useless degree. And I wish I had gone to Oxford, where the BA is so extensive you're automatically awarded an MA after a set number of years. Unless you've acquired one in the field already, of course. Here, I get a useless BA and get to bore my ass of while doing so. Oh, the joy. I need to scream, and I can't do that here, there are too many people.

I feel sorry for the people I'm meeting tomorrow, I will not be a pleasant asset to a study group. Nor will I be pleasant to customers at work. I think I'll make the tag "fucking BA" a recurring thing, so I can look back at it when I'm done in two and a half years, point and laugh at all the poor undergrads walking into the hell I've completed. Why can't anyone get me a course where I get to read critical theory and have heated debates?