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While I suffer in silence, I suggest you read something by Elias Canetti and report back. All will be revealed. Nothing will be revealed. Look for my interview with @little_utopia. Coming soon. Sorry, friends, feeling sick today. Not in the good way. #backsoonThe market told me about your "marginal propensities." When I despair alone, I prefer to be by myself. This day in 1887: mustache achieves sentience, fights me over soup Getting nothing for something is the new getting something for nothing. #subscribenowIf throwing rocks at peasants isn't a video game, I don't want to be right *looks at room full of dead gods* who wants walkies? I need a new catch phrase, something that says modern void, but also includes the trappings of the 19th century Maybe the problem isn't Monday. Maybe it's Twitter. Go ahead, say it in German. I've got time. The Umlaut is the message. #üYou might like German more if you knew it better. I just send some love to @NeinQuarterly , cause I'm really into supporting failed intellectuals. @NeinQuarterly the Invisible Hand doesn't do stop-and-frisk, it just gives you unwelcome squeezes on the go Are you there, invisible hand? It's me, Adam Smith. NQ's business model depends on ü. And despair. @NeinQuarterly It's monday already? Sigh. My Zeit and my Geist are not in sync. I'm building a brand. What's your excuse? It's not the heat. It's Monday. It's a beautiful day to rage, rage against Monday. Sweet broken dreams. (And even sweeter and more broken for NQ subscribers.) It's Sunday. Hug a hipster. Are you there, society? It's me, social media. How can I say this nicely: nein. Quiet despair walks into a bar. Impotent rage walks out. I have come to monetize Caesar, not to praise him. Trust me: capitalism isn't as easy as it looks. I just subscribed to @NeinQuarterly. I haven't felt this enthused since the revolutionary summer of 68! Okay, I was three then, but still. A German Sunday walks into a bar. Silently. In all fairness, brunch will also not be televised. It's time for a revolution, comrades, and/or brunch. It's a beautiful day for writing an ode upon a Grecian urn. Hire me to legitimize your subject position and/or critique your selfies. I fought the laws of motion, and inertia won. Sometimes I wonder about @ubuweb and the Internet. Is art printing life or life printing art? If all you need is love, you probably don't. Shit got real. Make it stop. Love should make it all better. But it doesn't. That's why it's love. Of course I'm conflicted. That's my charm. The Golden Age of the Selfie-Made Man. A leitmotif walks into a bar. Bartender: "You, again." Borges walks into a bar. Orders a Borges. Bartender: "We're out of Borges. But how about a Borges?" Borges drinks his Borges and leaves. Tweet it like you'll delete it. Why, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt? Why must this happen whenever we go out? Trotsky walks into a bar, orders a drink. Bartender: "Neat or on the rocks?" Trotsky: "Take your pick." An iPhone walks into a Droid. A structuralist walks into a bar. A post-structuralist walks out. Tragedy walks into a bar. Leaves shit-farced. Tragedy's looking more like farce every day. Thus got Zarathustra his Friday on. To err is human. To system error is divine. Honk if you value silence. A gentle reminder that Facebook is most useful as an allegory. I thought everybody wanted nothing for something. *firing marketing dept* Just me and ü this weekend. When I think of ü, I touch my selfie. Civilization is crumbling. Quarterly. FYI: @ubuweb started printing the Internet before it was cool. I believe in hope more than it will ever believe in us. I believe in love. But not love that has never known despair. I believe in plaid. Not in checks. I don't believe in Gods who aren't dead. I don't believe in colors I cannot see. You be insane. I'll be the membrane. And, you, be the brain. I don't believe in molecules. " @BarbarianCap: it's not despair, it's evaporating homeless urine from the sidewalks" It's evaporating sidewalk from homeless despair. Selfie-destruction. It should happen more. Someday Borges will be recognized as the greatest German author. Maybe this is not a God. And the pipe is dead. Smoke like Hannah Arendt. If you dare. Joseph Roth isn't impressed. Once @ubuweb prints the Internet, I will fold it into a jaunty little hat, place it atop my head, and win your hearts. All my fallacies are intentional. I'll start being human once you sign the consent form. If you're gonna hate the game, might as well hate the player. Somebody should write a song about Friday. The trick is making alienation work for you. Do not not honk if you love Hegel. You have my full deficient attention. You know, it's like "open access." But closed. Business models come and go. Despair is forever. I think the poets had a rough night. Maybe you could try being the change that I want to see in the world. You touched my monkey. And I liked it. It's a beautiful day for a going-out-of-business sale at the rag and bone shop of the heart. We'll always have the Paris Manuscripts. Ein Gespenst denkt um in Europa. Wird Steuerberater. Freitag. Und es ist gut so. I'm just here for the capital. Sorry, friends: my Weltanschauung is now pay-per-view. You call it speaking. I call it diaphragming a sentence. Honestly, comrades, I haven't lost all my principles. But I'm trying. A business model is merely the continuation of the Frankfurt School by other means. I was commodified before it was cool. Yes, small cadre of NQ subscribers, you are the vanguard. But mainly me. Hansel und Gretel Adorno. You can filter porn, perhaps, but there's no stopping despair. Despair is not for the hobbyist. Premium Content and Its Discontents. Not to spoil the surprise, but there is no "old Werther." The Discipline is the Punish. Most failed intellectuals lacked the proper discipline. Yes, constructs are "just a construct." That's why they matter. Once I learn what QED means, I plan to say it a lot. Nobody said Weltschmerz was going to be fun.
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