The Principle of Individuation

After a semi-brief hiatus, the Other has returned (once again under the coaxing of a man who learns his tricks from the Chinese government). I even got out my french book laptop-rest for this one, which, the fireheaded celt should know, means serious business.

After a night of disrupting the sleep of Narcissus (in a wholly kosher, albeit unotherly, way), I imagine that said self-navel-gazer is having an interesting day filled with non-functioning. This is something to always remember about our young flower-without-his-flower (tee hee. I will refrain from here introducing a story about a boy who does not know how to draw drapes or bring down the blinds). To continue - it must be known that if our little borscht does not fall asleep at 11:37 pm, a time when the Other has 100 pages of reading and 6 critical journals to write (and the celt has 200 pages and 10 journals to write), he is altogether useless. You might argue, friends, that we're long past the days of critical journals. You know what I say? Welcome to the new critical [e]journal.

Among the many conversations that kept us awake well into the witching hours (perhaps these odd sleeping patterns result from the Other having hazel eyes?), the Other learned that her company in the season of Christ's birth will be minus one. At the request of Narcissus I will refrain from naming said country which insists that if he is to visit he will be granted a single-entry only, and he had goddamned better well use it wisely. Though, I find that I agree with said country more than I had initially thought. I mean, the Other totally forsees Narcissus smuggling in shots of albuterol and slipping prednizone into the drinks of handsome young men.

Conversation then drifted to the topic of the soul. Reluctantly (and shockingly!) Narcissus actually acknowledged the existence of the souls of the Other, emily, grace, george, and matt^2. Sorry Bryson, but we all know that your lack of soul is the reason you have a wardrobe replete with vertical stripes instead of priestly vestments. Anyway, how classically self-absorbed of Narcissus, recognizing only the people closest to him (or within his circle, shall we say?) as actually being people. So I ask, nay, I challenge with the following: what of Czarina Ramsay?

This is steadily lengthening, but I suppose I making up for missed time (and words). I, too, would like to contribute a bit of creativity to these posts, so I here offer a short vision:

Narcissus and Maura visit the Kindergarten classroom of the Other, where sharing is fostered in a distinctly Levinasian fashion and poetry abounds. Children are crying because they don't have a soul and God is dead, and also because they're only pulling 3.96 GPAs on colors tests. The walls are marked with cerulean smudges and bits of red curl, and snacktime consists of nutella, dried mangoes, beer, and vegetables.

-Other