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Jane Miller · Desert Hours
I suppose most of us make rules for ourselves. Perhaps it’s the absence of work, of a job, that has made me so...

there is a perpetual inner argument between what I like to think of as my superego and the voice of my defeated younger self. The first tells me in a firm voice, and rather witheringly, that I must not only swim forty lengths a day but the lengths must be swum according to a routine, alternately crawl and backstroke, and the backstroke evenly divided between the use of both arms moving simultaneously and then separately... When I do keep to all my rules, not just some of them, I put a tick in my diary to accompany the letters and numbers. And those aren’t the only self-imposed regulations. I have a 16-year-old knee replacement in each leg. Every morning I do the exercises that were prescribed by physiotherapists after the operations. There is probably no point in my doing them now, but if I miss doing them I feel ashamed, almost sinful. And then there are the pills and the eyedrops and remembering to charge my phone and my hearing aid. Could I ever have believed that completing these daily rituals would come to seem a moral obligation?
You could have been immortal but instead you got me drunk and left me in a sewage ditch in the middle of winterim ageing gracefully. a good ageing example to follow.
You could have been immortal but instead you got me drunk and left me in a sewage ditch in the middle of winter
Joanna Newsom on backing vox.Gus crooning this over acoustic guitar.
That's quite the turnaround from 'death begins at 40.'im ageing gracefully. a good ageing example to follow.
Yeah I thought it was all over for you Luke. I thought you were going to go down in a blaze of vodka, DMT and arson, taking Woops, the Tate and a few hundred passerbys with you. Bit disappointed tbhThat's quite the turnaround from 'death begins at 40.'
that is ageing gracefullyYeah I thought it was all over for you Luke. I thought you were going to go down in a blaze of vodka, DMT and arson, taking Woops, the Tate and a few hundred passerbys with you. Bit disappointed tbh
the fear of aging, politically speaking, is another petit-bourgeois degenerecy.
Of course, many working class people have a fear of aging, just as many working class people are inclined to think within the gradiants of bourgeois society, and many workers are equally as likely to see themselves as necessarily being a proprietor (even if only of their own labour power.) Hence working class conservatism should never be dismissed — hello anarchism? (much less ridiculed) outright. Marx says as much. The working class is raised by capital to see through culture and habit the laws of the capitalist mode of production as overwhelmingly natural.
But it is within the middle classes that the anxiety of aging reaches an ungodly fever pitch, where the only way in which it can renew its feeble existence is through the clash of generations. You can see this in Ash Sarkar's grifting. She believes, like the typical university educated intellectual she is, that millennials are actually more progressive than their parents, which means nothing, because all views held by xyz individuals are always mutable and are unlikely ever to remain static.
I am the epitome of the petit-bourgeois degenerate and this explains why I am obsessed with time.