Alright folks, apparently there are some out there that want to nominate me for the 3 Quark Prize. Frances Madeson (hopefully she won’t hate me for posting this) contacted me about this yesterday, asking what post I would suggest, and being terribly embarrassed and suspecting her of being the impish, comic, wise, artistic, New Yawker, Jewess (I’m only a crypto or Sephardic Jew Francis… Family name is Andejar on my mother’s side… They took us all during the Inquisition and made us Catholics), brat that she is, I couldn’t bear to respond. Truth be told, I pretty much think that all I write is, as I told her when I finally could bear to respond, so much detritus, flotsam, and shite. I want to get away from it as quickly as I can. Moreover, the posts I like and am proud of are the ones that always get the least attention (this speaks to my point made to my friend Pete or Deontologist, that one’s writing is as much an object to the author as it is to the reader). Nonetheless, simply earning the admiration of folks like Madeson is an honor in itself. At any rate, if any readers have suggestions, send them her way or the way of Paul. I clean my hand of this, especially given that the contest is decided by Daniel Dennett insuring that I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of placing. Nonetheless, even as I’m deeply embarrassed and humbled, I am also extremely grateful and honored. As is obvious from the manic and obsessive manner in which I post, the blog and blogosphere is tremendously important to me. I am, as it were, full of libido when it comes to this medium. What I want, above all, is to preserve things and send them out into the world, getting others to read the things I have found valuable and exciting so that, in my lonely life, I might have others to talk with or, more aptly, play with.
As a sort of ironic autobiographical caveat, Larval Subjects began one drunken night over Spring break a few years ago when I was infected by the disease of the minotaur. I had read a post by a Deleuzian that was denouncing Lacan and started to write a lengthy response to their post (I had just discovered blogs), when I noticed they hadn’t posted anything for a year. Wanting to preserve my remarks, I started a blog instead, making that post my first diary. As time passed, blogging fundamentally transformed my thought process, curing me of minotaurishness and making me a much uglier beast. In this medium it was no longer possible to play the role of the minotaur defending the “correct” reading of other philosophers. Rather, I was forced to engage with others from entirely different backgrounds with entirely different sets of concerns. Gradually the academic game of mastering a thinker disappeared, I arrived at peace at my institutional place in life or rank, and began to do something else. What that other thing is, I don’t know.