Notes from January 11

From an open google doc: 

I’ve given up hope that anything is worthwhile ha. Yesterday I sat down with Rachel at various places — her bed, her “too preppy” couch (we found a cream throw to cover it), cowered below shelves of tapestries at “the tapestry store,” her kitchen table eating spaghetti by candle light with Jake, on a stoop to smoke a cigarette, a Spanish restaurant where I ate nothing — to talk about how much we hated everything. We hated media, the Internet, the commodification of experience through writing, Lena Dunham, memoirs written by women (the cost of them, the disincentivising of a life free of self-destruction and self-objectification), liberal feminism, gay men who exercise their male privilege. Later, I couldn’t explain why I took a book off her shelf (written by a mutual friend) and felt angry at the actions which forced this book into being. Namely, the author’s belief in the necessity of her words. I envied that, I guess. But I also found it shameful. It felt good to be hater. I didn’t care if I was being terrible or unreasonable. 

Rion said that he hates the internet because there’s “too much negativity.” I think I hate the internet for different reasons. Oh well.