Fyodor Dostoevesky and I are very much alike. Well, not really, but I resonate profoundly (with what I irrationally and erroneously) determine his magnum opus -- Notes From Underground. We both spit upon utopians and superciliously oversee their construction of the Crystal Palace, and yet we are unable to elevate ourselves from this ridiculous society and thus feel strangely inferior. Further, our feelings and ideals trap and oppress us, rendering us into idle anti-heroes.
Part One of the novella babbles on metaphysical philosophy, which demanded me to re-read a few a parts and become mildly confounded. Part Two -- while carrying the same existentialist themes of Part One -- is narratively focused and structured as such. Two parenthetical notes here: 1. Dostoevesky apparently influenced Jean-Paul Sartre -- notably, Nausea -- a favourite read of my dear confrere Kowalski. 2. The read has eerie similarities to Taxi Driver, with, you know, all the contempt for society and authority, themes of alienation, and a myriad other parallels -- but most acutely with the merciful prostitute jabber. If you are not cultured enough to understand this reference (happyfrappy, Kowalski), we weep for you. [Snaggers] I'm sorry, how obnoxiously arrogant of me.
Notes, in actuality with my academic situation, is a hindrance. I'm performing subpar in Global History (I capitalize with utmost disdain) and so I must jot down some semi-intellectual thoughts regarding the-turn-of-the-century Africa described by the infinitely dry Chinua Achebe and connect that dry story with sordid class themes ad nauseum.
But for now, I peruse the Dostoevesky forums and smile upon my thought: those humans behind their machines are merely keys on a keyboard, pulling their hair in despair, trying to be more.
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2 comments:
i presume you have found a new persona, along with a whole new book of words, in dostoevsky?
It's a very mild shift to a Dostoevskian persona from my own.
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