This is NOT Over

Sat Oct 28 – Sat Nov 4, 1989 Get a Job Hippias

…or, the Lesser of Two Hippiasses.

Spent this week reading the Lesser Hippias and found a connection between the U of C lecture I attended on Xenophon, the kind of writing Xenophon does (at least according to Professor Weeks) and the argument Socrates confronts in this, the lesser Hippias.

Confused? I’ll probably be even more so by the end of this post.

Just a note to me, I need to pick up (steal) a copy of the Phaedrus. Weeks mentioned it in his introduction, and he says there is some agreement between X and Plato on writing. According to Weeks, “this agreement or approach to writing is best expressed by the Socratic critique of writing found in the Phaedrus.”

Yes. I was a fucking little geek-boy and wrote shit down in a note pad. I’ve had that thing right behind the cigarettes in my shirt pocket since last Friday. I am more hopeless than before and that was when there was no fucking hope!

Oh, the connection between Weeks’ talk and what I found in the Lesser Hippias…

Hippias asserts that Homer is to be taken at his word. Socrates disagrees with the conclusion of the sophist from Elis (got to find out where or what that is) and seems to disagree with the premise that Homer is to be taken at his word. How did I arrive at that? Simply put, I didn’t. In the copy of the Lesser Hippias I have borrowed (stolen) from Professor Powell I noticed one word scratched into the margin next to this business of whether or not Homer was in earnest when he said Achilles hated liars. That word was “Phaedrus.”

Didn’t get much else from the Hippias but my mind is totally blown every time these connections or whatever they are appear in a short period of time. I go to a lecture on Xenophon and the speaker mentions a Platonic dialogue I wouldn’t know from Adam (or his ants). Then I see the name of the same dialogue written in a different dialogue that should have nothing to do with last Friday or Xenophon or anything.

Maybe I’ve stumbled across topics that experts in such things would know that they cover similar issues and I am making way too much out of nothing. But, as I have always said, I am nothing if not a maker of way too much out of nothing.

Have I discovered another paradox?

No. No I haven’t, and that’s ok. I’m not in the paradox discovering business. Not yet anyway.

Technically it is late Saturday afternoon as I am writing this. Stayed sober this week up until right now as I open my first can of Hamms since the Halloween party last weekend. Glad I didn’t take E`{`. She’d’ve been miserable.

Took Mindy and we had a great fucking time. No actual fucking took place however. She dressed me up as Cher and she came as a cat. No actual cumming occurred however.

On Halloween Day, or the day of All Hallow's Eve or something like that, there was a copy of Gogol's Dead Souls in my mailbox. It was from Jen O. She wrote, "Read this dumbass" on the title page. I just might.

Tonight an old friend from home is up here visiting. I haven’t been in touch with her for some time now and I need a bracer. I think it’s called a bracer. Anyway, it’s a can of fucking Hamms and I need it now more than ever.

She gave me my first handjob. Here’s hoping that tonight she gives me my 121st handjob. Is that a good number of handjobs to have gotten in one’s life? I’ll turn 21 in January. Let’s see…should I do the math? No because I’m not sure I’ve had 121 handjobs in my life. It’s just a number I made up, sort of like pi.

Ok, I didn’t make up pi and pi actually means something. Suck me! It’ll be my 87th suckjob in this life. Ok, I made that up too.

This girl is better than math than I am. She has been known to drink me under the table (so why I am starting before she gets here is a bit of a mystery). Her family has way more money than my family although our grandparents come from the same neighborhood in Joliet. Actually, my dad’s dad was the first to leave the old neighborhood. Guess he wanted to move somewhere where their was no neighborhood hence the wide open nothingland on the outskirts of Lockport that I called home.

Enough of this semi-lucid pastoral crap and back to Megs. Megs is the girl from home who is coming up to see me. She called this morning and threatened me with a bottle of slivovitz. I wish to god her intent is to drive up here and smash the bottle over my head. But her intent seems much more sinister than that.

She expects me to drink it with her. Goddammit. I come from a stupid, stupid people. Here’s to ‘em. See you next week dear reader.