Notes from Suffragette City

Last night’s session with my analyst was great. He’s really helping me focus my anger. Turns out I have a lot of it; all a question of how it gets used . . . man, I can’t sing the praises of this Jungian shit loud enough. The conditions we live in try to focus our anger into cynicism, from the left wing media as much as all those naughty corporations and nasty politicians – it’s all part of the same dynamic, keeping our demands as consumers and political participants simple and easily addressed. So dramatically that it makes me think of the C word.

We need to take responsibility for social conditions through our appetites, our ballots, our entertainment; all those things that are so easy to object to are there because they serve us and we don’t ask for anything better even while we gripe and carp and turn in on ourselves. So, you know, ask for something better. Create a market for it, or it’ll never be there. It’s all about the markets, bitch. God, I want to hook up with a commodities trader. When I get back from Europe, I’m going to start going to their crappy bars. I’ll bite the fucking bullet.

Anyhoo, as soon as I got home, my entire thesis defense erupted onto the page as easily as 7 pints of Old Peculier from the stomach of the 13 year old girl on a walking tour of the Yorkshire Dales that I once was.

Yeeeeeeeeeah, bitch. I DOMINATE! I DOMINATE!

Whatevs, I’m tired. Need to kick out the jams this weekend.