The same place the fly got smashed

From the heady days of this past summer: "In Tempelhof this evening, as far in the middle as was possible to go, blinded by the sun, I angle my neck and all I can see is a blue expanse. I am moved by music recorded in Dayton, Ohio. I think thus, that there are too many possibilities for emotional experience for there to be a god."
My clip-on shades provided the perfect protection from the fields of shimmering gold. I had fought and ended up alone, and this was my solace. I worshiped the passing minutes, not knowing whence they came or where they would lead. I no longer know exactly what I meant, but I think it had to do with an inverted tribute to Kierkegaard, a mis-reading in which the parallel levels of ethical experience find expression today (in these sad days) as fleeting emotional vibes. "Don't need no God,"sadly. Need music and something to drink during a sunny vision, wherein ethics disguises itself as emotion passing for a solitary aesthetic experience.
"Organize my world," my world's pointless and ecstatic—worthless and exotic—mirthless and erotic. Very simple and therefore spiritual—very difficult and therefore satisfying—very hard and therefore cathartic—very easy and therefore disappointing—none of the above, and always different.

Nowadays: Preparing to fight, negotiating concessions between my own convictions and my desire to avoid annoyances and/or threats to my material well-being. At this point I am only interested in the next two and a half years, and am content to let the later future work itself out in due time. This allows me to follow my personal vision of φιλοσοφία, and what could be of greater importance than that? What is a job compared with a text. A text is eternal and gives itself to the world. I asked: what does it mean to be ambitious? He said: "I want my work to be important." Why? There are texts, and they are there to be read. Can one/should one desire anything more than to to read a text? Read it for the world, if it is there to be read. You shouldn't expect anything else from a textual institution. Your work can and therefore must be faceless, it is the text which should become important.
A job is only important insofar as it puts food on the table, but this isn't what you consider valuable.
I am only beginning my thirtieth year, but I feel far too old to have guidance forced upon me. "No need to get all caught up / in society's stipulations..." I used to be a member of the freak generation, and now I'm doing all I can to avoid being a middle-aged child! The freaks certainly don't have a monopoly on middle-aged infancy, that's certain. It is a vast social ill: "Capitalism makes a fool of you, every time."
I dropped my tool, which made a loud clanging sound as it struck the floor: "I did it on purpose." Wait while I retrieve it...

Here goes: Though it came as a disappointment, she felt it simultaneously as a relief. It became apparent to her that the career she had begun working towards was an ignoble one: or rather, in order to be successful in such a career (in these sad days), one would have to go about it in an ignoble way. This was not always the case! Many things were not always the case, but whose fault is it that they are now such a case? When will things return to how they were? Each decade is worse in its own way.
"You as a person have got to think fast"—less in order to process information quicker, but to calculate the necessary tactical approach which allows you to avoid annoyances and/or threats to your physical well-being. Leave her alone, let her conclude: "I as a fly was smashed at this very spot two and a half years ago. My story lives on..."