Welcome to my web, my capturing device, my frayed asterisk at the corner. Not complete but drawing your attention, marking out a space. It is violent, strategic, and imprisoning. It is beautiful, vulnerable, and strong.
I connect you to the words that connect you to yourself.
But do I have to write a blog?
Some words feature their ugly with a sound and mouth feel that lingers after the word is gone (sludge, gusset, fetid, moist). Like acid colors and triangle patterns in nature, they warn you to stay away.
Others engage the sickly boniness of their aristocratic inbreeding (pulchritude, bucolic, effulgence) to simply scare you off & save them from doing work. And some are linguistic carrion flowers that lure you in with their liquid sibilance before springing their deadly denotations (acquiesce, hirsute, silverfish).
But a word like blog doesn’t threaten or disdain or tease. It doesn’t do anything but sit, like a tepid lump of beige (not even griege)—unformed, flabby, & tired.
Blog is the sole-surviving syllable of a shantytown portmanteau: weblog. Blog has survivor’s guilt. It’s a purposely ugly word, blog. There has to be something better.
So today, and probably tomorrow, I will explore other words to denote and connote this weblog of musings, missives, and meanderings. This confluence of ephemera, this commonplace, this capturing device.
Boots on the ground
In 2022 I want to use my body more—get out and walk—because by doing so I feel motion, energy, self-direction. And through that lens, I will better recognize what my body is telling me it wants.
2/22: Two, to, too
February 2nd. A day worth repeating. 2/2 echoes itself and the year and repeats what it has always said: let’s start again. 2/22: two, to, too.
Retrograde for the win!
Retrograde, an illusion of orbits and rotations and distance, sends a needed message: we can go back.
It's just Zoom
Everyone’s quest for the new normal is really just everyone’s doubling-down on the old one.
What color is your 2022?
We want a fresh start in 2022—new, verdant, washed of our experiences. Rebirth. That grass over there.
In the belly of the whale
The whale in Jonah’s story is the divine silent treatment; it’s a God-level time-out.
Now that I, like Hamlet, have been released from the responsibility of studies, and can manage my own sleeping and waking times for the summer, I may allow myself to follow a practice of segmented sleep.