probing
the works of critical media studies scholars are like eldritch monsters to me. they reveal too much about the world, turns it upside-down into something strange and unknowable, and the truth of it rattles me out of my comfortable stupor. the revelations don't rest easily in my skull and they slip away quickly, antimemetic, even as they deliver brilliant insights about the cultural phenomena i'm most interested in.
it doesn't escape me how many of the most brilliant people who study this end up taking their own lives - debord, fisher, wallace. though mcluhan seems to have made it out alright, by keeping that ironic distance. perhaps it would be survivable for me, too.