My lower back hurts from bicycling just a little too hard (I guess) the last couple of weeks, which rather than keeping me away from my bike, has led to motivating me to stay away from couch potato behavior, the too much television that comes with that soporific couch, and by the passage of back pain and moving to my study, I successfully shamed myself into reading several books in the past 4 weeks after also spending probably too much time on my phone cruising my own friends when supine in front of the tv. I remember when I resumed this substack a few years ago I meant it to be an odd form of a book review because I hate how so many book reviews are written. I stopped doing that because I felt like I was just attacking people who were recommending me the books I read. I’ll tell you what I like offline. It won’t matter. You are also on your phone on a couch in a room I am not in. This could be us but…

Everything is so embarrassing. I just have to tell you… overshared narratives are indeed new jurisprudence, beneficial and liberating, if also sensitive to conflict and easy to exploit. But the answer is not cowardice. The indifference you tout as a pacific gesture is not morally superior to loud negotiation, and shares none of the joy in the care the rest of us are offering in the wake of our fears.

I wish I were a river.

I know I’m complaining a lot. I am not totally happy with the tone of my thoughts either, lemme tell ya. I’m troubled by their whininess but also by the fact that I seem to have a brand new chip on my shoulder. One that says: look see, I have been able to read and understand all that should qualify me as an intellectual; at last I am no longer an imposter, but a model. It’s the prompting to look at me that feels like a dent in my joints. Look. See. I am not some bourgeois arriviste trying to tell you one too many facts about cheese of a certain region even if I borrow a little French here and there. I hate cheese. That’s the dip. I hate sandwiches and cheese and everything this place thinks makes it special. It’s what doesn’t make it special that I adore. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see?

Why aren’t we on a hunger strike? I’m pretty sure we are meant to devour each other. Less like zombies and more like lovers.

See.