slutty slutson > Recent Status Updates

a supposed scalding exposé on educational apparatuses is made tedious by ravitch’s incessant need to sensationalize and exaggerate, not exactly to a point of misinformation, but to a point where i roll my eyes everytime she goes onto another sprawling tangent about how we are in the advent of an orwellian nightmare where only political correctness will reign and we will all be bound and gagged for speaking real(?)

everyone wants to write introspective moody books about forlorn broken characters with weird psychosexual hangouts and inhibited violent tendencies. the issue i have with her work is that a lot of it is filtered through this icy sense of irony which yes, can be funny at times, and speaks well to the depressive condition of her characters, but otherwise negates any avenue for potent emotional connection w the reader

this book’s meditations on love and abuse have resonated with me in a deep seated way. it felt amazing having someone tell me that i didn’t have to accept the shit thrown at me at such an early age. that being said, this book falls off HARD. it turns into a bunch of sermonizing. i’m not a religious person so a lot of it phases me. not a fan and i hope it grounds itself soon because the drop in quality is wild

maybe i’m jaded, or it’s the side effects of SSRIs quietly haunting my life, but i find this pretty underwhelming. i think my problem is that it feels like a grown man trying to channel the thoughts and feelings of the classic diva stereotype. although he filters it through his classic sense of cynicism and transgression, there’s still a sense of disillusionment i feel between me and her. not super compelling.

i hate adhd with a passion! or maybe i’m dyslexic but the words will phase right through me and i’ll space out in the middle of reading, and when it comes to complex texts, this usually means concepts of metaphysics or psychoanalysis melt into static and wordsalad. i’m going back to shorter, easier to digest books for the time being

So far, the book is less a collection of academic treatises and more a love letter to counterculture and Fordist America. The first essay serves as a piercing dissection of nostalgia culture that does posit some interesting philosophical arguments, but afterwards, it veers heavily into music discussion under the lens of philosophy rather than it being vice versa. The Joy Division chapter was pretty haunting.