I've been reading the Robert Shea/Robert Anton Wilson "Illuminatus!" trilogy recently (bonus game: count the number of times I've said I'm reading a book, then never finished it. Winner gets absolutely nothing), for the first time since... high school? College? In any case, it's great fun.
For those unfamiliar, it's all (to a ridiculous degree) about conspiracies -- the stated aim, I think, was to treat every conspiracy the authors ever heard about as if it were true.
I'm not really a conspiracy nut. Sure, I accept that some shady dealings are always going on -- but most of the new world order/whatever worrying doesn't make a dent in me. But -- while I don't necessarily believe in them -- I love conspiracies (and some of the stuff that goes hand in hand; lost lands, UFOs, so on). Love reading the theories, if they're well-thought-out enough to sound plausible.
Why is this? Is it just that the world's so fucked up, that I want to believe there's some guiding hand at work, even if it's malevolent? Or is it the same thing that made me desperately want to believe in superheroes as a kid -- the desire for there to be something else out there, unseen, but that I can possibly crack into if I just find the right path?
I guess the shorter way of saying that last bit is "perhaps I enjoy reading about conspiracies because real life is so fucking boring."
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I never did finish off that post I alluded to last time -- basically, in short form, last week marked the eighth anniversary of my move to Atlanta, which prompted contemplation, moodiness, and woolgathering (other things that prompt contemplation, moodiness, and woolgathering: wine, not sleeping enough, sleeping too much, hockey, warm weather, "Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle"). To capture the mood of the post, go to your local bar, find a drunk (and erudite and handsome) guy, and ask him to list off all the things he likes and doesn't like about the city in which he lives.
The oft-stated problem of not completing anything continues (this also provokes contemplation, moodiness, and woolgathering). I don't have any time off work 'til the end of December, so it's quite likely I won't feel caught up until then. In the meantime, I'm thinking about giving Nanowrimo a try again this year, which seems destined to backfire -- after all, last year I got 1/50th of the way into it. Ah well. Try, try again.