Categories
Chronic Disease

Day 1863 and Head Above Water

Yesterday I wrote that I had no gas in the tank. Today is not much better. I am barely keeping my head above the proverbial water line. I finished a major purchase which I thought would give me respite for a few days.

Alas changes in destination, an emergency dental appointment for a family member, and the promise of rest was more like a promise of fretful semi-consciousness.

After days of rushing around seem to have swept me off my feet and into bed I still am not quite rested.

I thought I was mended yesterday but it seems as if I’m on the second day of exaggerated sleeping patterns with long arcs of sleep in the wrong places and times. Add in a bit of overheating on top of it and something feels off.

It’s not unusual for me to absorb major changes and shifts throughout their unfolding via some migraine induced osmotic pressure. I feel the animal spirits and global vibes push in past my physical limits and I shut down. I hope I’ll reboot soon.

Categories
Chronic Disease Travel

Day 1862 and No Gas in The Tank

I am very fatigued today so I’ll excuse myself to get on with it. I have had a few eccentric missions and side quests keeping me quick as we all adjust to whatever this strange moment in the world might be.

I haven’t had too steady a course of sleep thanks to some of the overflow on this terse intersections with reality. A few of them are fun but we’d probably all agree it’s weird out there.

So I found myself taking a nap as I had a bit of a sleep deficit. Now I realize I could do well with a lot more sleep. So I’ll see myself out. The the lights off if you are the last one out.

Categories
Aesthetics Travel

Day 1861 and Mispricing The Market

I’m sure most of the world will be fixated on various financial corrections in global markets but I spent a chunk of my day dealing with currency changes (that will be 7% of your withdrawal thank you) that reflect nonsense from monetary arbitrages, regulatory graft and foreign exchange transactions so I’m in absolutely no mood.

Then I went to what counts as the diplomat and foreign money mall and got Pizza Hut, frozen yogurt and Korean skincare. I don’t even like Pizza Hut but I was so sick of managing dislocations and figured I’d rather send it back to America. My patriotic consumption for the day.

I don’t know if it’s an urban legend that our military can deploy food franchises in twenty four hours in a conflict zone but we sure seem to figured out emerging markets.

It’s a shame we won’t let some markets emerge and be shaped by pressures. The vape kiosk was doing a brisk business and I was frustrated to see the owner of the favored electric vape was based in Shenzen. What an opportunity lost for American brands.

I’d say half the parking lot was Mercedes and the other half was BYD if that counts for anything. I haven’t seen an abundance of American cars and I think we all know why.

But then my savior was found in a brightly colored kiosk with no customers at all. A swath of Korean skincare brands that proved to be authentic. Blessedly many global K beauty brands have adopted QR codes to manage the misuse.

I am adapt at spotting packaging dupes and frauds thanks to the de minimus years importers of fakes flooded Amazon, eBay and other retailers with third party resellers.

Everything was half off as at their full retail price they were still not moving. I scooped up $30 bucks of masks from brands like Mishha and Some By Mi. My skin was fully irritated by smog, stress, and wider disappointment. The globalization era is in full swing in plenty of markets but everyone gets their cut. If a brand doesn’t command a local market then an enterprising consumer can enjoy a temporary mispricing. Sometimes this mispricing last for far too long.

Incumbents have strange advantages they are loathe to give up. I came out angrier at banks than usual, as angry at central banks as ever, and very pleased that the local consumer base wasn’t yet wise to the benefits of a product that commands a premium elsewhere. I might go get more.

Categories
Emotional Work Media

Day 1859 and Crime Without Punishment

People tell stories of where they were or what they were doing when major world events happened. Most of them are silly and personal but necessary to ground the horrors of being connected at scale while still being such small bit players in the scale of things.

On 9/12 I had just left New York City to return home to Colorado to finish out the high school I’d dropped out of the year prior. My grandmother called me at dawn before I’d left for the annual start of school camping trip, distraught that we couldn’t reach cousins and other family who were first responders or worked downtown. Then we couldn’t get through for hours.

When Lady Diana was killed I was up early for a sports competition preparing my gear when the news broke. My mother and I watched in shock at 4 in the morning as we packed bags.

When Michael Jackson died I was in Miami on my first solo vacation between jobs having sublet a condo for two weeks while I sublet my New York apartment. The grocery clerk at Publix ringing me up asked if I had heard. I attempted to explain that I’d seen it on something called Twitter.

When Jeffrey Epstein didn’t kill himself I was in the hospital. I had been entirely off social media but still listened to the five minute radio news update. I don’t know why but I told my doctor that he was dead and her immediate response was to swear. I recall us both being upset as she shook her head saying “now he will never face justice.”

The entire weekend was a deluge of people processing, concocting, and turning over the “flood the zone with shit” dump of files on Epstein. As if the Friday night “take out the trash” media playbook somehow still held sway over a population of networked humans.

Now we are a species who remember every Harry and tragedy both personally in the context of our own small lives and at large as it emerges into a wider understanding shaped by the contours of those who seek to distract or draw attention.

It’s no wonder we spellbound by conspiracies. I lived across from ground zero for years. Tourists grieved and paid homage next to soap box schizophrenia weaving tales. I grew up on forums dissecting every aspect of death and tragedy from princesses to the King of Pop. Why should the coverage of depraved sins be any different?

So I ask myself why should I believe any of it. Who should I give information dumps and theory threads and newspaper headlines any attention at all? I’ll never know if crimes were punished. Justice works slowly and sometimes not at all.

Categories
Emotional Work

Day 1853 and American Boomer Betrayal

I wish I could shake some of the grief that has gripped me over the past few months. I grieve the revelation of human truths I wish I did not know. And underneath the grief, I feel betrayed.

I feel betrayed by my elders, my country, its institutions and the power structures that have bounded my life and its path. It feels dramatic when I write it down but I know it to be true.

I have kept a lid on these simmering feelings because I am too afraid to unearth more truth that has the potential to rewrite my life and the internal (and external) perceptions of who I believe myself to be. And yet it is only change that has the power to overcome the entropy that destroys life. And that includes mine.

My feelings of betrayal seem too too ugly to look at and shake any sense of security or belonging that I might once have had. Which was in precious little supply already.

I don’t wish to be histrionic about it, but I am not the only American millennial who feels this way. I know many American Zoomers feel it more deeply than I do.

And there is plenty of evidence to support these feelings, which makes it all the worse. Feelings are not facts but there are facts beneath these emotions that are hard look at.

I don’t know why I cannot seem to unearth or articulate enough of my emotions to help me let go. I feel I have forgiven so much and it hasn’t been enough to change things. They say that betrayal creates a “double wound” as there is the act itself, and then the shattering of our belief in the fidelity and values that had scaffolded our lives.

I don’t want to look at the grief and betrayal straight on for reasons I hope I can slowly reveal to myself and others. Whatever protection it offers my ego and inner child must have some value but keeping things hidden is not helping me

I going to try to articulate these feelings, even if I am afraid of putting such enormous vulnerability out for scrutiny. I’ve done it before and it has only ever helped so I must find some courage to go further.

It’s not that I think anyone reads, or even notices what I say here, but rather once something is written into our public networks it stays. There is a reason “the word” has had such resonance for creation in faith. By writing it into a record I will create something that is real and will have consequences.

The relief I felt at the passing of my father at the end of last summer embarrassed me at first. I wanted to feel sadness, loss, love, and absence but all I could see was relief that he was gone.

I wished for more change and endings before the hungers of the past’s needs would eat more of my present. And I knew it would not come unless I made it so. Saturn devours his son. The son must slay his father.

I loved my father so deeply that I shaped my whole early life around impressing him in the hopes that he would find reason to be more present.

No achievement or milestone was ever enough to change his orientation and availability to me. Still I forgave him. He gave me so much. At the end I do not know (and must contend with not ever knowing) if he forgave himself.

This personal tragedy has anchored my feelings on the generation above mine and how they have conducted themselves in the management of America and all of its institutions.

The trust and fidelity has been broken. From education and health to politics, cultural and monetary systems the harms have compounded and the healing is slow. Family forgive but society needs scapegoats. And that makes me fearful.

The only systems that I feel has not actively betrayed me remain market capitalism and the edifice of our informational technologies. Ironically there are huge swathes of my generation who feel those are the systems that have harmed them the most.

I do not believe that free association and information are harmful. Indeed I see them as entirely beneficial even when there are obviously individual harms that the abstractions do not reveal so easily.

Some believe humans were simply not meant to live at a scale that showed us a world beyond our roots. How can we remain true to any values when all ruptured and greed, disgust, treachery and disloyalty is laid so bare and in such a brazen manner? To err is human and seeing our sins at such scale is a grievous harm we must overcome.

I myself am unsure if paradise lost to wider wisdom is only harm. We eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and now see sin. But we also reveal the sustenance of divine love and redemption. Malus is not the same as malum.

Perhaps it is precisely because it is the wider world that has nurtured me even as family, elders, and institutions have ravaged the basics of life that I can see this horrifying but beautiful whole.

For millennia we have grounded the rituals and meaning of human life at a smaller scale with fewer hidden truths. Now it is laid bare to us all.

I am a citizen of the world with wealth but not health. I have built a beautiful family and marriage but likely will have no children. I have an incredible community of friends but we are scattered to the winds.

The personal middle ground of my life doesn’t exist because of the hunger of a generation and a nation that cared more about themselves and their reach and power than the future that would obviously arrive.

As younger generations wait to take the reins of their future, it threatens to never arrive. The grip of the past refuses to let go. And I wish to pry open that grip so we may try and do better.

They did the best that they could. And it hurts so much that it was not enough. The fear remains our efforts won’t be either.

Categories
Aesthetics Politics

Day 1852 and The Nothing

I did not have a good weekend. I feel the emotions of humanity’s current transitional phase too keenly. There are the wondrous upswings of hope and deep darkness that consumes anyone who bears witness.

I feel compelled to bear witness. Even though I know it harms me. Even when I know I am staring into a war, purpose designed to push me into or out of the myriad conflicting agendas of state, corporate, faith and cultural powers. A thousand agendas who wish us submit to their will.

I wish I had the guidance of the generation who led the world through modernity’s war torn emergence into our current networked age. Without knowing our future, would they be able to use their past to help us see through the fog that clouds our present?

I find solace in the children’s literature made by artists who lived through brutal dehumanizing totalitarian regimes. They told stories with truths so clear a child could grasp them.

I return to the works of Tove Jansson and Michael Ende again and again as I try to make sense of what it means to be human. Ironic that I should find human truths in authors who wrote of fantastical worlds filled with whimsical trolls and flying luck dragons.

And yet truths that seem crystalline in fiction distort when I apply the lens of my present. I recall Corinthian’s 1 “Through A Glass, Darkly” and know I am not the first to have such troubles. I will not be the last.

Ende wrote a fictional formless entity called “The Nothing” in The Neverending Story. The people of the realm Fantastica voluntarily leap into The Nothing. It has an irresistible pull.

Worse still, the destructive phenomenon changes the Fantasticans who become lies in the human world. Fantasticans who are destroyed by entering “The Nothing,” don’t just vanish. They reappear in our human world as false beliefs, deceptions, and propaganda that people mistake for reality. The symbolism is clear.

When we suppresses imagination and our inner life, our “lost” fantasies don’t disappear. As in shadow theory, they return as toxic narratives, distortions, and myths that make people “blind” to the difference between reality and illusion.

I do not wish for any of us to kill who we are. We walk into The Nothing and whatever version of ourselves comes out the other side is not the truth. I can only pray that I am not willingly walking into The Nothing as I bear witness.

Categories
Chronicle Internet Culture

Day 1850 and Midlife (of The Blog) Crisis

I feel so lost right now. Some things are going quite well and others are not. This could be a metaphor for my own life yes (and it is) but I intended the post to be about feeling lost in my own writing project.

I don’t know if it is the midlife of the blog, but it’s not the beginning anymore. Half a decade of writing is quite clearly an edge case. But why do I keep doing it, what am I trying to say and am I trying to reach anyone? I’m not sure I have an answer.

The open internet increasingly feels like a fantasy from a different time. I still believe that the internet is meant for humans to connect with each other freely and openly and I love this utopian ambition of shared interoperable protocols for communication.

So while I write this daily log for myself, my records, and my desire to improve my thinking skills it’s obvious it’s not just for me. Being a part of the records of humanity is no small thing. I want to be in the records. I want artificial intelligence to be trained on my work. I want my voice to be heard by those who wish to hear it.

It’s prideful but I believe that I have something valuable to contribute to our collective next steps in developing new kinds of intelligence. I want these models and their future programs (dare I say progeny) to be trained not just by governments or corporations but through contributions from regular individuals like myself. I’m just not quite sure I know what my best contribution looks like anymore.

Categories
Aesthetics Travel

Day 1848 and Call To Prayer

The call to prayer echoed out as I stood underneath one of many loudspeaker towers bristling with surveillance equipment.

Strong winds buffeted cell equipment and 360 degree video eyeball cameras as the firm melodic voice of the muezzin recited out the first words of the Adhan.

“Allahu akbar”

I wonder how many cameras were scanning my face as I watched the speaker quiver from the wind and snow as I shivered waiting for the black Mercedes driving me to Istanbul went through giant X-Ray machine.

Loudspeakers and surveillance cameras

I briefly let my eyes scan the area to see if this prayer would delay my transit across the Turkish border. I was in no-man’s land between Greece and Turkey and I felt alone. I prayed. God is the greatest.

I saw no one rushing to prayer rooms or unrolling prayer mats. Maybe others were praying as I did. Silently inside the privacy of their own mind. The siren indicated the giant car X-ray was on.

A kind of Doppler effect buffered the prayers from each tower over the sound of alarm, layering prayer and warning as sound rose and fell over my head.

I switched on my Bose noise canceling headphones and closed my eyes. I went to wait out the cold in the duty free but the smell of the perfumes made me nauseous. I went to the bathroom feeling ill. I finally found the prayer rooms. I was still the only one there.

I found the prayer rooms next to the bathrooms at the Duty Free shops inside.

This was my second time driving to Istanbul through the rolling coastal mountains of the Balkans into Greece. I had not expected this kind of life for myself but I seek to be exploring far reaches in this life and little of it makes sense. I experience reality as closely as I can.

To be a traveler to the crossroads of the great empires is a privilege for princesses not a lowly citizen but here I am. An America woman with a passport has power even a Venetian trader did not.

How long that lasts I can’t really say. Even in the panopticon of the crossing I felt safe but the world is in a strange place. Still for now I was welcomed. Constantinople welcomes all travelers.

Three hours later the open roads of Turkish farmland slowed to potholes and frantic taxis gummed up by city traffic. Istanbul drivers are terrifying. Each near miss I found myself saying God is great. Praying that I would make it to my hotel. That feeling would last through every taxi ride I took.

EDFM techno radio and a tricked out taxi expressing his love for the American Cadillac

Categories
Aesthetics Biohacking

Day 1843 and Does Enya Listen to Herself In The Bath?

As a woo child of the New Age 90’s era of music, I love listening to Enya in the bathtub. Pure Moods and a hippie mother set a tone for bathing for the remainder of my life.

Alas in Montana we do not have a bathtub in any of our bathrooms. We have a hot tub but the chemicals bother my skin so I only get to enjoy a bathtub when I’m traveling.

And you better believe I have Enya downloaded on Spotify for those occasions even though I’m certain at some point we probably owned all of her music on tape and CD.

While I love the classics (who doesn’t want to sail away?) I had Wild Child come up as I was soaking up magnesium yesterday. Which is not a bad checklist for becoming present in the moment.

Ever close your eyes
Ever stop and listen
Ever feel alive
And you’ve nothing missing
You don’t need a reason
Let the day go on and on

Let the rain fall down
Everywhere around you
Give into it now
Let the day surround you
You don’t need a reason
Let the rain go on and on

What a day
What a day to take to
What a way
What a way
To make it through
What a day
What a day to take to
A wild child – Enya

I’m no wild child but I don’t need a reason to enjoy a bath or a day. Rest up and rejuvenate.

Categories
Emotional Work Preparedness

Day 1842 and What If It Is Very Different

I am trying to imagine my life being very different. If I step away from some of the areas where I have visibility what changes. I am imagining a phase change of assumptions about not only my own life but life as it goes forward.

It’s the topic we’ve all been dancing around for years and years, with crescendos coming all the more frequent. The science fiction I love so very much has different ways of portraying a jump in material conditions.

The Expanse called it The Churn. William Gibson called it The Jackpot. I wonder what we will call this period in a hundred years.

I have so much curiosity. Maybe too much. an almost childish sense of imagination has never left me even as I go about very adult life. The wonder and “what if” sensibility haven’t been crushed under cynicism even if it would be rational.

I don’t know if I feel equipped to manage what’s coming. How much of the difference will be the choices I make to life my life and how much will be forced on me. It’s a twitchy and terrifying prospect to consider just how much freedom we have against a backdrop of limited information. Only action will illuminate.