Getting my reading going for papers due soon and beginning with a reference to Flaubert culled from Barthes, Death of the Author, then taken through wikipedia:

You must write to find your Voice, 2010, in Poas, Costa Rica.

"In Bouvard et Pécuchet, Gustave Flaubert made fun of 18th and 19th century attempts to catalogue, classify, list, and record all of scientific and historical knowledge. In October 1872, he wrote, the novel is "a kind of encyclopedia made into a farce... I am planning a thing in which I give vent to my anger... I shall vomit over my contemporaries the disgust they inspire in me... It will be big and violent."

I wonder about the need to vomit on contemporaries, is that like wanting to strangle other drivers on the road because they don't do what you think they should do; similar to road rage?  Surely, I spend too much time driving.  This goes back to wanting to burn cars.  I can't help but believe that cars are the embodiment of our self-destructive impulses.  And here I am, a pizza delivery person.

Is it a bad thing that I don't understand the desire to "vomit on a contemporary"?
Maybe it's due to the fact that I don't consider myself a contemporary of anyone. Maybe because I spend most of my time in the public delivering pizzas for a major chain restaurant.       ?Contemporary Art? !  
I suppose I just haven't yet experienced milieu related to my "dream job"= artist/art teacher (that can pay the bills comfortably, with a retirement fund and health insurance).
Let's give it that old loner heave-ho, let's go (self;work ethic;aloofness) and try harder.  All artists are lonely to some degree.  At least, I'm lonely, I wish I felt more comfortable around people, and for longer periods of time.  
Perhaps, I will just try to consider them contemporaries, cause art isn't supposed to pay the bills!  Then,  I can become so settled as to wish to vomit on them.  
I can push past believing that I must sell myself to be included.  I don't want to be left out, but socializing is scary due to the inevitable misinterpretations.  An island, but I don't believe that we are all just islands on trade routes, brought together to consume.  I refuse, preferring to imagine the stretching of time out until all distant yet actual connections become so tangled and overlapped as to be always touching and able to be recalled clearly.  

Dear Flaubert and wikipedia, 
Can you explain what you mean,
and why you chose this quote;
because
I'd rather puke on myself any day, 
but it might not get me the attention I want.
Consumption is necessary for survival, 
which always comes first.
I like eating.
Maybe I want to eat my contemporaries
rather than puke on them!
Sometimes, everything is not OK, 
but's that's OK.
I found you and was interested enough 
to write this.  Over and out.

To a link to Barthes From Work to Text, to be referenced.