Simbakubwa
Sunny today. A high of 88F.
Last night, I slept less than two hours. Mostly, I was up. Mostly, it was due to anger, though mu roiling innards played a role as well. I am now semi-conscious, at best. Abot 2 a.m., I set up a substack. crkbooksnpaleo.substack.com. It's idiotic, and the more I understand the thing, the more I hate it. Like how most people use Substack on their "handheld devices." I don't write for handheld devices (a book is not a machine, ergo not a device sensu smart phone). Anyway, I'm giving it a week. We'll see. It feels increasingly like people are saying, "Look, we just need more free stuff."
Anyway, sleep or no sleep, I proofread "Ovid Under Glass," made mine and Kathryn's corrections, did the layout for Sirenia Digest 211, and sent it away to Gordon to be PDF'd. As soon as I have it, you'll have it. Now, I am only one issue behind. Oh, and I workd on Winifred a little.
Lost of evil thoughts today, which go back to why I was angry last night. They go back to pretty much everything about me right now. I was trying to talk with "Z" about it today. They are one of my last remaining confidents. Basically, me explaining that my existence and everything I have ever accomplished, whether literary or scientific, only has meaning in the context of the society I existed in when it was created. That society, which I spent most of my life in, was my constant, my true north, and something I believed would exist for a very long time after I die. Now I see it falling apart around me, yanked this way my the right, that way by the Left, both sides not so much minding utter obliteration, so long as the other side loses. "Z" pointed out that I'm a Utilitarian, and I said yes, I've known that since I discovered utilitarianism as a freshman in college in 1983*. But I'm not going to get off on a long philosophical discourse. Suffice to say, I think the needs of the few outweighing the needs of the many is the tail wagging the dog.
If the world that made me ceases to exist, the world I worked so hard to emebllish and make stronger, richer, than I, in effect, cease to exist. What I am, ultimately, has always existed outside me, and it always will. All of my meaning derives from that world. I am the antithesis of self-actualized.
There are few things I could say about myself that would be more important than that. So much for the myth of my individualism.
Also, a couple of things I posted to Facebook:
I first touched a computer (not counting my Texas Instruments scientific calculator) in June 1986. I 22. It was an Apple IIe. So, you lot born with digital nipples in your mouths, keep that in mind. I was infected late. I am cursed with the memory of how much better things were before.
~ and ~
Not a good sign that Substack is so counterintutive I'm not sure how to make a first post. Nor is it a good that previews are formatted for phones. I'll try again later. I assume I can't block phones, which is too bad.
Jesus, I'm tired.
You know, the shop. Have a look.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
9:19 a.m.
* I have an undergraduate minor in Philosophy
Last night, I slept less than two hours. Mostly, I was up. Mostly, it was due to anger, though mu roiling innards played a role as well. I am now semi-conscious, at best. Abot 2 a.m., I set up a substack. crkbooksnpaleo.substack.com. It's idiotic, and the more I understand the thing, the more I hate it. Like how most people use Substack on their "handheld devices." I don't write for handheld devices (a book is not a machine, ergo not a device sensu smart phone). Anyway, I'm giving it a week. We'll see. It feels increasingly like people are saying, "Look, we just need more free stuff."
Anyway, sleep or no sleep, I proofread "Ovid Under Glass," made mine and Kathryn's corrections, did the layout for Sirenia Digest 211, and sent it away to Gordon to be PDF'd. As soon as I have it, you'll have it. Now, I am only one issue behind. Oh, and I workd on Winifred a little.
Lost of evil thoughts today, which go back to why I was angry last night. They go back to pretty much everything about me right now. I was trying to talk with "Z" about it today. They are one of my last remaining confidents. Basically, me explaining that my existence and everything I have ever accomplished, whether literary or scientific, only has meaning in the context of the society I existed in when it was created. That society, which I spent most of my life in, was my constant, my true north, and something I believed would exist for a very long time after I die. Now I see it falling apart around me, yanked this way my the right, that way by the Left, both sides not so much minding utter obliteration, so long as the other side loses. "Z" pointed out that I'm a Utilitarian, and I said yes, I've known that since I discovered utilitarianism as a freshman in college in 1983*. But I'm not going to get off on a long philosophical discourse. Suffice to say, I think the needs of the few outweighing the needs of the many is the tail wagging the dog.
If the world that made me ceases to exist, the world I worked so hard to emebllish and make stronger, richer, than I, in effect, cease to exist. What I am, ultimately, has always existed outside me, and it always will. All of my meaning derives from that world. I am the antithesis of self-actualized.
There are few things I could say about myself that would be more important than that. So much for the myth of my individualism.
Also, a couple of things I posted to Facebook:
I first touched a computer (not counting my Texas Instruments scientific calculator) in June 1986. I 22. It was an Apple IIe. So, you lot born with digital nipples in your mouths, keep that in mind. I was infected late. I am cursed with the memory of how much better things were before.
~ and ~
Not a good sign that Substack is so counterintutive I'm not sure how to make a first post. Nor is it a good that previews are formatted for phones. I'll try again later. I assume I can't block phones, which is too bad.
Jesus, I'm tired.
You know, the shop. Have a look.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
9:19 a.m.
* I have an undergraduate minor in Philosophy