Some Idiot Sent Me a Stupid Message and I Didn’t Want to Deal With It so I Did This Instead

Alternatively: Someone out there right now is in need of a shirt that says “I sent a rude anon on Tumblr and all I got was this essay on the place The Death of The Author in modern discourse instead.”

Yesterday I finally finished How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas C. Foster, which I got for either Christmas or my birthday (they’re relatively close together so it’s hard to remember which). While I did find it overall enjoyable and educational, it raised again the issue I have with “Death of the Author” that has now been actively plaguing me for the past 27 hours.

Continue reading Some Idiot Sent Me a Stupid Message and I Didn’t Want to Deal With It so I Did This Instead

GIVE THIS 15 MIN | Dan Croll

301835_322313314512563_929218661_n[Editor’s note: We gave our staff 15 minutes to tell us about an underappreciated artist. Here is the latest in our series we’re calling “Give This 15 Min“]

by EJ Coleman

The graph of how indie the music you listen to is versus how pretentious you are about it is a bell curve. You start out with mainstream music, whether that be pop or rock or rap or what have you, at a level where you can listen to the radio and sing along unknowingly. Then you move on to more alternative music, the “hidden gems” that aren’t really that well hidden if you know where to look. This is where you find the people who tell you the name of their favorite bands and use “you’ve probably never heard of them” like punctuation.

Then there’s the darkest, most embarrassing shade of indie. Here is where you try…

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On Existential Comfort

The More Loving One
W.H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all starts to disappear or die, I Should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

Comforting nihilism. That’s my brand. Life is meaningless and that’s what keeps me living it.

Continue reading On Existential Comfort

And Behold!

Your babiest EJ and I started a new blog! Check it.

A Series of Little Things

People of the internet rejoice! There’s a new aimless blog on the block. We’re EJ and EJ and we’re here to write about what we want when we want in the hopes that you want to read it too. Film, music, all things queer and/or nerdy—it’ll be here.

Make sure to subscribe here and follow us on Twitter and Tumblr for updates when we, well, update. Thanks for plugging in!

— EJ & EJ

For the great doesn’t happen through impulse alone, and is a series of little things that are brought together. Vincent Van Gogh

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Testing, One, Two, Three, Four…

This exists in the in-between grey space where I’m not sure whether it’s still Sunday, because I’m still awake, or Monday, because that’s what the clock says. For all I know it could be Tuesday; I feel like I’ve been awake that long. Is it Wednesday yet? I’ll get back to you on that, hopefully.

In other news, it is much too late for critical thought. I’ll see you in the morning for something equally inane and incomprehensible but without the excuse.

— EJ