Books in July

In July, my reading achievements were pretty pathetic, I didn't read anything on most days, as I was occupied with teaching at ESPR and travelling. At the end of the month I did start consistently reading 100 pages a day (which is my nominal goal since late May). In total I read 580 pages which amounted to two complete books.

Friedrich Nietzsche: Beyond Good and Evil

This was the first complete Nietzsche book I read, before that I pretended to understand him by watching Youtube videos. It was fun, I still consider him the best motivational literature out there, he really fueled my will to power. I only noticed now what a sexist asshole he actually was (something my beloved Youtube series on him tended to ignore). It is interesting that upon realising that all truth is just made up, he didn't go on to think that commonly held beliefs and prejudices about women might also not be true. He also says something detrimental about structuralism, but actually I don't see how describing structures of power and oppression as main drivers of human history contradict the stuff he's saying.

The first picture you find of Nietzsche on Google.

But as someone told me, you don't have to understand Nietzsche, you have to feel Nietzsche. That kind of makes sense - there is a very charming, river-flowy fire-breathing style he has - the guide in the darkness, the provider of fundamentals, the hold-your-hand-and-tell-you-the-truth certainty. He breaks down systems of authority and gives you the hammer and sickle to build your own reality and sow the seeds you've grown into your own aesthetic ideal of grain. He provides you some things he realised about the world - but that is only a pointer to the deeper drive, the will, the realisation of you. Nietzsche doesn't want you to be a sexist asshole, he doesn't want you to follow him, he wants the Übermensch to rise and "experiment" and give shape to the aesthetics and texture born in their mind.

Jókai Mór: És mégis mozog a Föld (Eppur si muove) (first half)

I rememered vaguely from a high school literature class that I wanted to read this book, so now I did. It came in two parts, which I came to realise when I was reaching the end of the first but no conclusion was in sight. Sadly, the second part wasn't on my shelf and I didn't care about it that much, so I'm satisfied with it as it is.

The first picture you find of Jókai on Google.

It is a classic romantic novel, guy moves to big town and loses his illusions and struggles to realise which woman is the nicer one, the cute one or the willful one, wants to write poems but everyone wants him to be a lawyer etc. After this I read Lost Illusions by Balzac and realised how similar they are, but this is distinctly Hungarian and cutely-naively Romantic; Jókai has a very descriptive style, but is really a master of his language and it just feels so good man. Of course, I'm writing this in English, so I cannot really convey the exact feeling, but oh the acrobatism of description and elegant choice of words and the random anecdotes and things he knew...

It is not his best novel by far, probably not very valuable, one out of dozens he wrote. But still, this is a master of his craft, sitting down one Tuesday afternoon to write a novel and bringing in all his texture and wit to craft a story and characters and tell a tale of love and common sense and revolution.

On approval

Yeah, I think you're basically right.
I mean, I could bring things up for the sake of argument, but there is really nothing wrong with what you're saying.
It is quite all right as it is, to be fair.
We could look at the details of what you said and probably find some problems here and there in the exact argument, but it's no big deal really.
I think you should just follow through with it and it'll work out.
You did well overall.
It is a good idea.
I approve.
Just do it really.
It is not without its downsides, but, like, what is? I'm sure you thought it through well and are very conscious about potential ways it can go wrong, so if after that, you still think you should do it, I approve.
Really, it's all right.
Everything will be fine.
I approve.

The worst post on this blog

This is a very bad post, it is truly the worst, I promise.

I've wanted to start this blog for a while now.

For years!

That is because I'm very convinced for some reason that I have things to say. I want to write about travels and adventures and pretty mountains and flowery vales and films that I watched and satisfying sonata forms. And I want my writing to be pretty, my choice of words elegant, my opinions surprising but well argued.

I want a blog! I want a blog so much! I need to write, I need to write down all this STUFF!

But it is so hard. All arguments look good in head, all commitments and imagined futures bright when conceived and then daunting when their realisation is attempted. How can I measure up to my ideal of a writer, drawn up with great taste that frowns upon at any pathetic attempt at a serious post that I could, in my current inferior form, try to scribble down.

How can I deal with being so bad?

What if I get stuck and cannot develop and have to accept my own mediocrity? That I really have nothing to say? That my thoughts and writing is of no value...? How could I possibly start anything when such demons of stagnation and creative imprisonment haunt over me?

Today, however, striding through the Greek countryside, I realised: I just have to write one very bad post.

Anything would be a development after that.

Yes! It is evident that I have to start with the worst post.

This, right here, is the worst post this blog will ever see.

It is almost inconceivably bad. It is pretentious in a staggeringly fake way, it verbosely throws around words that are completely unnecessary, but are somehow chosen as the best possible by some weird method in a weird soul, hoping to convey something meaningful through endless self-reflection; avoiding sincerity and responsibility by hiding under layers of irony and metacommentary.

For sure, it can only get better from here.