Respite

There’s nothing quite like the post-modern vision of success… It juxtaposes the neurotic corporate lifestyle: that not-so-ancient relic of a prosperous time, with a deep longing for identity and authenticity. Make no mistake; the marketplace binds both. Your readiness to exchange the money in your figurative pocket for that delicious box of Timbits can and will always be defined by the cathartic delight of munching on Timbits, versus having enough money for a down payment on a condo a few years down the line. Your decision to buy a bottle of artisanal Worcestershire sauce instead of those Timbits can and will always be characterized by the joy of throwing a few drops of that Worcestershire into a balsamic vinaigrette, versus the primal travesty of having one less Timbit. And just like that, no one talks about Fight Club.

At any moment in time any materialization of consciousness can be traced as a causal chain of events, from which a highly sophisticated and quantifiable equation can be formed to represent that singular decision. Absolutely everything from the most inconsequential twitching to the most profound exercise of free will can be measured and analyzed. Anything and everything is subject to that intangible process by which free-floating strands of thought are compartmentalized into singular letters. Really, it’s not all unlike the strands of paper fibre that form that arbitrary receipt, the formal tribute to that contribution to the grand mound of wealth. Deconstruct, simplify, compose. Abstract, abstract, abstract. For a moment, it seems as though there is no end to the human mind. Anything is knowable, and that which is knowable is subject to control.

Leaving my prior course, I hurry up St. George Street to catch the tutorial immediately following. I stop by a food truck for a quick bite—conquering the depths of knowledge is hungry work. Chicken shawarma with everything thrown on top: the usual. It’s not bad, nothing like home though. Several minutes late, I take my seat, and put on my best please-give-me-these-participation-marks-so-I-can-move-on-and-become-an-investment-banker face. The TA goes on for a while about the latest film screening (Michael Mann’s Collateral). The conversation is constantly interrupted by that one person. Every now and then you hear a “subjective!” or an “objective!” The discussion becomes all the more problematic. An hour has passed, the sun has set far too early, and it’s another walk home in the dark. On this night, conquest does not run through Caesar’s mind, he’s far too busy grappling with the delight of a fresh Mediterranean fig on a warm August day.

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