Friday, 19 August 2005

Acephalous is Six Months Old! or Praises Be I've Survived! [Note: Amardeep's comment prodded me to finish this post. Since its continuation sounds as indulgent as I thought it would, I've left it there in the comment section. But if you really want to you can read it.] In eleven days Acephalous will have been around for six months. Happy Birthday Acephalous! What can I say? You began as a necessary distraction during a year in which I accomplished almost nothing. That angered me, and that anger confused me because it had been years since anything had pinched the nipples of my soul. I hadn't sweat the small stuff since high school and couldn't be bothered to nearly a decade later. So what did I do with my anger? I started you! I wanted to channel all these useless afflictions into something productive. I had tired of the typical existential wallowing that follows any brush with mortality and I hadn't written a damn thing in months. I would prepare for class and teach and return home exhausted. Then you came around. I haven't been the same since. When you were first conceived you were nothing but an outlet for the unabated anger of a recent cancer survivor. You've since become so much more. You invented yourself an author by the name of "A. Cephalous" who posted hither and thither. "A. Cephalous" earned himself a reputation and then was subsumed into He Who Is Scott Eric Kaufman. (He became the guy in the middle unworthy of the women to his right, your left. Before you ask, he also became the guy whose mother is more Irish than Irish and the guy whose beard grows in bright Irish-Red despite his otherwise stereotypically Semetic features. He also knows how silly this genetic essentialism is. But his beard's still bright red if allowed "philosopher-length.") This post began with a point. It was to be a retrospective of the evolution of the way in which Acephalous has mattered to me, but it will have to settle for knowing that without it my cancerous anger at universal injustice may've vented itself in far less productive directions. I could say that one of the reasons I groped for The Valve-preservers was because at that moment anger and argument were all I had. That and Wilco. But Jeff Tweedy could only inspire me. He could do nothing for the doldrums that had parked themselves on my jet stream. So I waited-out the weather but the weather did out-wait me. And here I am. Six months later. No longer "A. Cephalous" but myself. No longer chock-full of cancer but filled to the brim with healthy cells. And now you have pictures. Happy birthday Acephalous who is not "A. Cephalous." Thank you for the survival. (Tomorrow night we'll resume the serious arguments about Zizek, Knapp and Theory. Tonight we eat cake.)

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