As in, I'm still alive. Anyway. I've got a lot of posting coming up, most of it will probably have to wait until winter break because I'm getting slammed with homework.

For the past week I've been reading some existentialist stuff and I can only conclusively say that Sartre is good but disturbing, Keirkegaard might mean well I think but he's only sometimes intelligible, Dostoevsky is, surprisingly, the MAN when he's not writing thousand page novels, Kafka is pretty much how I left him but reveals even more of his ambiguity with his "Castle", and there's no way I can get through more than a few pages of Jaspers or Heidegger because they're both insufferably tedious and inaccessible.

Of course this all probably means I'm not smart enough to understand it, but if existentialist philosophy wasn't meant to be deciphered by snarky, wannabe author/illustrators, who was it meant for? Besides white male gentlemen of the 18-1900's.

Oh, my teachers would be so proud.