- Rather than learn how to use the Scrivener I paid for I've downloaded the free evernote, I hoped it not so robust I easily fuck up simple c/ping from evernote to blooger, but...
- I ignore the Clusterfuck I cannot change better during workbad than vacationgood, fuck me.
- I can't write a novel, but if I could I wouldn't write about the five people once dear to me who I'd lost contact twenty or more years ago who have contacted me in the past six weeks
- (though I find it fascinating).
- Tuesday past, Fellowjeff Ichaelsmay emails me birthday greetings.
- Two of the five just wanted to bump once by email, one wanted a phone call (it was nice, I wrote about it here), one wants a face-to-face when friend in DC January upcoming (I'll fret when need to), so far Fellowjeff just the one hello email each.
- If I could write novels I would not write a novel of six voices each assigned chapters weaving a fucking plot, standard or experimental, no, no no no, I hate those
- (not that I can write a novel).
- We - my friends, my generation - are all citizens now in Death More Often: parents, aunts, uncles, die, cousins, siblings, beloveds, dear friends, friend friends, digital friends, sort of friends, the guy in the Receiving bin down in acquisitions, Mark E Smith, Tom Clark.
- Theory re: contacting living ghosts - abacus-clacking self-actuaries checking pulse, calculating.
- This Adorno quote (from this tweet): “The constantly reinforced insistence that everybody should admit that everything will turn out well, places those who do not under suspicion of being defeatists and deserters,” crucial variable in my training that not tending the clusterfuck is a sin.
- As with every tablet, from yesterday's Scrivener to four decades' of Scribbler, if I don't reread them once I never wrote them, and...
Whether as it was or as it should be
Out of the ruins of a new society
The skeleton of an older society
Arose, from which, all rickety, banging
Shank and bone, a society yet
More ancient and long of tooth; and so on,
Until there occurred a syncope in
The series, and so mercifully ceased
At last the long obscene succession,
Discovery, retribution, torture,
Death, eternity, the crunching of
The whole repulsive nutshell beneath
History's dumb indifferent bootheel.