Accident and Obligation, or, F-Utility

Ambition is obligation.

No, really, this is hardly any manner of genius, but at the same time it seems worth noting explicitly. Call it some sort of multiphasic something or other. Still, as so much happens, perhaps I ought to write it down, yet the act is laborious and stylistic precisely, at least in part, because of ambition; and the most direct address of labor and futility only amounts to greater, or, at least, other and more complex, obligation according to reframed ambition.

And say what we will about desire and suffering, but ambition, in function, is obligation.

Frameworks are as frameworks will; that life is more than mere utility of accident is an article of faith. Our futility is our own choice to attend the word.

On Function, Aesthetics, and Screw the Goddamn Birds

This is something I don’t understand about basic function: Why move the birdseed away from the door nearest the feeder and hide it in the back of the closet?

Or did I miss a note, somewhere, that we are finished feeding birds?

The only thing that makes sense is that there really isn’t any other place to “put it away”, and all things must be put away, especially if that means not simply putting them somewhere not simply inconvenient, but also deliberately disruptive, to function.

Futility and Function

You know, call me crazy, or whatever, but what I don’t get is why there can only be one towel in the kitchen, and why that towel must at all times be covered by plates, silverware, and cutlery. It is, apparently, absolutely unacceptable that a towel should be available to actually dry anything with.

Shite thee not. Weirdest fucking thing. The absolute hostility shown the idea that one should be able to wash something off their hands in the kitchen sink―even if that something is obtained in the kitchen―and have a towel available at that moment to dry their hands is inexplicable.

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Image note: Already? ― Detail of frame from FLCL, episode 1, “Fooly Cooly”.