Notes
MRM. We’re in this liminal space between the date Margot Rose was born – July 23rd – and the date she died – August 13th. July 23rd we arrived at the lake. Carissa brought mini cupcakes and we had cupcakes and sang happy birthday on the dock at sunset. I said, “Are we going to sing?” Carissa said, “I don’t really want to,” but then led the singing. Grief is so multivariate, but it is almost always awkward.
I missed July’s IndieWeb Carnival. Despite having an idea and a to-do from approx July 1. It was a month. August looks to be no better.
I managed to make it to church this morning. The old testament reading was from Isaiah 55. 8th-century BC Israelite prophets speaking to 21st century late-capitalism.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food.
Our priest referenced Babette’s Feast in her sermon. During the service, as I struggled to stand up and sit down, failed entirely to kneel, and declined the wine at communion, I had the strange thought: “Don’t drink, can’t walk, what do you do?”1 On the way home I randomly listened to Die Young.
In this paper, I will…
David Bowie’s Blackstar is a work about a dying man facing his death. St. Vincent’s All Born Screaming is a work about men already dead despite being far from physical death. They are connected by the thread of the highly syncopated drumming of Mark Guiliana. In this paper, I will…
Commonplinks
I’ve posted about James Reeves and his Midnight Radio before. So I just have to get more effusive each time. This time it’s: JFC this continues to be the epitome of personal publishing (I dare not call it just “a blog”)
I’ve always felt pity for folks with ridiculous job titles…
…in the software design field there’s a total lack of shame. Someone will shake your hand with the most pathetic, lick-spittle job title in a vain attempt to impress or intimidate, to place themselves above you in a deeply lame, invisible hierarchy.
…they are mostly unbowed, hurtling ever-further into the algorithmic vortex, enthralled by the insatiable appetite of their vast and growing audiences—the precise metrics of which they and their handlers can meticulously track.
…the currently existing podcast media superstructure, which has become a colossal engine of nonstop hysteria-fomentation and dysregulated magical thinking with zero concern for bare-minimum accuracy. It also operates within a churn of algorithmic stimuli perversely arrayed to ensure this sanity-contaminating trend continues indefinitely.
Colophon
I updated my writing page to a 2-col grid on desktop-width viewports and separated fiction from nonfiction.