Please link the viscerally real, raw, and uncensored non-fiction Substack about the time (you) abandoned (your) family for a year to get (your) philosophy doctorate and lived (your) masculine fantasies to the fullest, featuring: drugs, fucking, swears, violence, and a lot of self-loathing. Thanks!
After reading only the first two paragraphs, I have to say that I disagree so fundementally with this, that it is all so rotten at the core, that I feel like you dont even understand the idea to begin with let alone how to enumerate and combobulate it. honestly dude, delete this.
I am writing this as a friend - here for you but wtf man.
Oh Good Grief, Clancy! Overload, overload! However, this just cracked me up: "...weather was weathered, a penis was erected, a tithe was quarried, a frittata went unfettered, a cornucopia of corneas went quartered and a clam—claiming consciousness—said, “I am!” An unfettered frittata! Love that. Yes, the manner in which you've communicated your thoughts HAS left an impression on me that I simply can’t help sharing. I don't know how to respond to this post, so I am sticking with your fine fiction.
thanks sharron! hahah i liked that bit too. just wanted to play substack philosopher for a day that just happened to be april 1st. see you next week for more fiction
Your very fictional way of attempting non-fiction is hilarious. There might be more figurative language, metaphor and subtext here than in your fiction.
Why are we condemned—yes, condemned—to a ceaseless loop of soft rock hits, circa 1973, every time we try to buy toothpaste or bananas?
Carol King’s “It’s Too Late, Baby” warbles from the ceiling tiles like a ghost with perfect pitch. Bread, Seals & Crofts, the Eagles at their most tranquilized. It’s always there, like fluoride in the water—inaudible until you notice it, and then it’s all you notice.
Have we not surrendered enough of our autonomy? Must we also be lulled into passive consumption by ballads about heartbreaks no one remembers having?
This isn’t nostalgia. This is anesthetic.
It’s sonic wallpaper for a culture afraid of silence—afraid that if we turned off the radio, we might hear the hum of our own despair. And so we nod along as we pick out romaine lettuce, soundtracked by the musical equivalent of Novocain.
There’s no irony left in it. No edge. Just that slow, gentle smothering.
Please link the viscerally real, raw, and uncensored non-fiction Substack about the time (you) abandoned (your) family for a year to get (your) philosophy doctorate and lived (your) masculine fantasies to the fullest, featuring: drugs, fucking, swears, violence, and a lot of self-loathing. Thanks!
coming soon
After reading only the first two paragraphs, I have to say that I disagree so fundementally with this, that it is all so rotten at the core, that I feel like you dont even understand the idea to begin with let alone how to enumerate and combobulate it. honestly dude, delete this.
I am writing this as a friend - here for you but wtf man.
good thing the first two paragraphs are the only two meant to be read
Pure speculation! You are (choose one) a. A racist b. A nazi c. A misogynist d. All of the above. Also you forgot the Ditka stash- evil incarnate.
“Ditka Stash” would be a really cool name for just about anything
I am not sure of what I just read but I … like it?
i think you’re experiencing what most think piece readers on Substack experience
ditto
Hit the nail on the head with this one.
Oh Good Grief, Clancy! Overload, overload! However, this just cracked me up: "...weather was weathered, a penis was erected, a tithe was quarried, a frittata went unfettered, a cornucopia of corneas went quartered and a clam—claiming consciousness—said, “I am!” An unfettered frittata! Love that. Yes, the manner in which you've communicated your thoughts HAS left an impression on me that I simply can’t help sharing. I don't know how to respond to this post, so I am sticking with your fine fiction.
thanks sharron! hahah i liked that bit too. just wanted to play substack philosopher for a day that just happened to be april 1st. see you next week for more fiction
I’m here for the intervention…will there be pastry hearts?
we will have coffee
Add a couple of jelly donuts and I am in.
can we have a summary of this?
think
ha ha ha!
someone cliffnotes this for me
Your very fictional way of attempting non-fiction is hilarious. There might be more figurative language, metaphor and subtext here than in your fiction.
haha thanks diana! oh no, that is a scary thought... I need to step up my fiction game!
Blue Blood Morality- Selleck-stache. LOL. Some nice musings here, Clancy.
thanks Parker. as you can see, I am an accredited philosophical authority
Great stuff, Clancy. It got me thinking.
Let me ask you something, if I may:
Why are we condemned—yes, condemned—to a ceaseless loop of soft rock hits, circa 1973, every time we try to buy toothpaste or bananas?
Carol King’s “It’s Too Late, Baby” warbles from the ceiling tiles like a ghost with perfect pitch. Bread, Seals & Crofts, the Eagles at their most tranquilized. It’s always there, like fluoride in the water—inaudible until you notice it, and then it’s all you notice.
Have we not surrendered enough of our autonomy? Must we also be lulled into passive consumption by ballads about heartbreaks no one remembers having?
This isn’t nostalgia. This is anesthetic.
It’s sonic wallpaper for a culture afraid of silence—afraid that if we turned off the radio, we might hear the hum of our own despair. And so we nod along as we pick out romaine lettuce, soundtracked by the musical equivalent of Novocain.
There’s no irony left in it. No edge. Just that slow, gentle smothering.
Soft rock: the Muzak of late-stage capitalism.
And the most sinister part?
We don’t even notice anymore.
brilliant
This is awesome. Bravo!
thanks Sam--all in good fun. much respect for many non-fiction philosophizers.
What is today’s date?
april 1 why
Seems like an auspicious day to switch from fiction to non! :D
hmm
I love this so much
and it loves you
I maybe loved it too much can you forgive me for taking inspiration?
i’m honored
You got a little crazy here, but I like it. 😀
i mean I am a little crazy! thanks adam!
It's as if you've encountered the people here with BPD.