Second Best
A draft I wrote back in December, which ultimately led me to make this website.
Lately I’m convinced that I want, possibly even need, to spend my free time writing.
Coherent, carefully articulated thoughts — let alone “writing”, let alone editing[1] — are increasing in importance just as their generative commodification accelerates. The latter threatens to hollow out our skulls, laying bare the naked grid of (VC-funded) mouse traps and ping pong balls threatening to drive our daily actions and reactions.
I don’t feel like {reading, writing, biking, walking, talking, making, smiling, feeling, enjoying, dreaming, self-actualizing} because my head is already filled with a landfill of cacophonies deposited by cynics, opportunists, bigots, and fascists. Wading through this endless landfill inflicts a particular kind of self doubt: Who put this here? Why does it weigh so heavily on me? Do these people’s rotting mind palaces dwarf my own sense of repression and creative insecurity (empowering, perhaps), or do they magnify it? And who’s going to clean up all this fucking trash?
So is this a diary entry? Is this an executive despair that “mind over matter” can help dig out of? I don’t fucking know. I’ll try to figure it out.
“Edited” in the copy editing sense, not in terms of self censorship or anything else. ↩︎