Yesterday was a bit of a mess.

After I came home from church, I kept having problems with engery. The air conditioner had my legs cramping. I napped. That did no good. There was still a problem of concentrrating. i got a little bit of work done with Montana, only stopping when I could not keep the fuzziness in my head. 

Some other things I got into and want to share:

The restless eye of James McNeill Whistler (Engelsberg ideas ). Whistler fascinates me as an American. That I cannot rightly draw a stick figure makes artists fascinating to me.

A Eulogy (Sheila Kennedy) the distance travelled from decency to MAGA.

Here’s the Frederick Douglass Speech to Revisit This July 4th (Literary Hub)

Even in an angry and at times despairing speech like “Sources of Danger to the Republic,” Douglass retained hope for the future, calling on Americans to secure the democratic promise of the nation. “Strike down the one-man power everywhere,” he says at the speech’s conclusion; “make your Government lean to the people, and away from the individual or the one-man power.” If Americans are willing to do that, through constitutional reform or other means, “you make sure the permanence, prosperity, and glory of this great republic.” This is Douglass’ wish and request to us from 1867. As in “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?,” he reminds Americans of the still unfulfilled egalitarian promise of the Declaration of Independence, and there is no better time for such a reminder than July Fourth. 

Some times behind paywalls, the sort of thing I try not to usullay post about.

All the President’s Men at fifty (Times Literary Supplement)

Journalists still do, every day, hold power to account. Think of Partygate, Plebgate and Barnard Castlegate. Think of Jeffrey Epstein. So-called mainstream outlets may have become smaller players in today’s vast information ecosystem, but, thanks to journalism’s endless ability to reinvent itself, they have new allies. Civic-minded, crowd-funded bloggers sit in local council meetings on the press bench vacated by struggling or defunct local newspapers; digital activists live-stream protests straight to YouTube; third-sector organizations such as Greenpeace and Liberty employ journalists to investigate their own specific areas of public life; for the first time, a subscriber newsletter, Democracy for Sale, has won the Paul Foot award for investigative journalism. Some of the best watchdog reporting today is collaborative, community-funded or conducted by data miners sitting in their bedrooms (see the work of Bellingcat), or by digital teams supported by philanthropic donors. If investigations that stir public opinion to outrage and demands for action are one measure of success, then the recent television drama Mr Bates vs the Post Office (2024) probably had more impact than any news article about the Horizon IT scandal.

Yet the Watergate myth, of which Woodward and Bernstein are an integral part, has persisted and even grown. This is both because we need it to be true and because, in certain ways, it was. Pakula’s film shows that, through a combination of legislators who remembered their oath to uphold the Constitution, an independent Department of Justice and FBI, and a courageous newspaper editor and his reporters, the system worked.

Why the Last Battle of the American Revolution Was Fought In India (The New Yorker)

As the name of Barney’s ship suggests, the struggles in Mysore stirred the American imagination. Hyder Ali’s decisive victory at the Battle of Pollilur, in September, 1780, in which he routed a column of British troops, was documented and discussed by the Founding Fathers. Edmund Jennings Randolph, a Virginia delegate at the Continental Congress, wrote to John Adams, then posted in Europe, in April, 1781, of how Hyder Ali’s “Army of 80000 Horse” had “totally defeated” its British quarry. John Quincy Adams, a teen-age student in the Netherlands at the time, wrote excitedly to his mother, Abigail, about “the check the English have had in the East Indies,” where they had “lost a great number of men.” In a letter written in the summer of 1782, James Madison praised Hyder Ali’s “superiority” over his most implacable foe, Sir Eyre Coote, the British general tasked with pushing back Mysore’s forces from the East India Company’s southern Indian stronghold in what is now the major coastal city of Chennai. Nine days after the British surrendered at Yorktown, in October, 1781, a group of notables in Trenton, New Jersey, made a series of triumphant toasts that were accompanied by artillery fire; one of those toasts hailed the “great and heroic Hyder Ali, raised up by Providence to avenge the numberless cruelties perpetrated by the English on his unoffending countrymen, and to check the insolence and reduce the power of Britain in the East Indies.” (Hyder Ali died, of an apparent tumor, at the end of 1782, and his son, Tipu Sultan, followed as his successor.) 

John Adams and his colleagues helped broker a preliminary peace deal with the British in the autumn of 1782, in Paris—a few months later, Britain would forge a separate set of deals with Spain and France. But combatants in the subcontinent were unaware of the initial truce that had been made in the West, and dozens more battles took place around the world. The last clash of the American Revolutionary War, some historians suggest, occurred along India’s Coromandel Coast, in June, 1783; as the British laid siege to a fort in Cuddalore, then occupied by a joint Franco-Mysorean force, a smaller French fleet scored a naval victory nearby. The siege was finally lifted after news of the earlier peace arrived.

What solidarity Americans had with Mysore proved fleeting after independence. France withdrew direct aid to Mysore following the 1783 Treaty of Paris, at a moment when Mysore’s forces could have pressed their advantage. In the years thereafter, Hyder Ali’s son, Tipu, would likely rue having allied with the wrong European power; the French, struggling financially and on the verge of their own revolution, could do little to support his kingdom against the emboldened British. In 1788, Thomas Jefferson, who was then the U.S. Ambassador to France, wrote of the arrival of a number of diplomats from Tipu’s court, and noted that he would attend their reception in Versailles, but was unsure what any of it would achieve. “If their mission has any other object than that of pomp and ceremony, it is not yet made known,” he wrote in a letter. As early as 1792, the U.S. sent an American consul to Calcutta, the East India Company’s main port in Asia—an implicit recognition of the growing power of the British in India, and a sign of how the U.S. saw its early trade interests in Asia best served.

This morning when I was first up, I finished up on Montana for my research project and did a little bit more. 

Some neo-garage rock from a now-defunct Canadian band:

 

Got on a Cramps kick. Still The Queen: The Cramps' Poison Ivy Turns 70 ( Rock and Roll Globe); terrible photo of Poison Ivy, good overview of her career, and it is difficult to think she is now mid-seventies.

 

Second round this morning: 

Up around 9:15 pm, wondering where is my new phone, and went down to the convenience store for smokes and Coke.

Back here, I started on my email. 

A detective series I never heard of Nobody’s Perfect (1969) by Douglas Clark ( In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel) - a series I do not recall and not sure if I missed anything.

Dream of getting some fishing in this year: The Susquehanna Strip: A Deadly Streamer Retrieve for Smallmouth (Fly Fisherman)

Listened to Jo Jo Gunne's So...Where's The Show - an album I picked up more than 40 years ago, lost, and now I am wondering what was the fuss? The band was an offshoot of Spirit, it's good, but nothing really stands out. Not a lyric to make me pause or playing to make me take notice. Why are the vocals not clearer? It is very much an early Seventies sound. It is competent background music.

 The All-Music Guide says:

After the erratic and self-consciously weird Jumpin' the Gunne, this album is a return to form. More than that, actually -- the replacement of founding guitarist Matt Andes with John Stahely resulted in a tighter, more focused, and generally more interesting band than ever before. Jo Jo Gunne was originally formed to be, in Jay Ferguson's phrase, "a hard-ass rock band," and on So...Where's the Show they finally were one. Ferguson responded to the harder edge by abandoning the synthesizer in favor of a jazzy piano sound, an inspired move under the circumstances. The combination enlivens even the dud songs; "I'm Your Shoe" starts as a pedestrian slow-grind, but has an incredible instrumental break in which the whole band rocks hard and fast, then drops out suddenly to let Ferguson take a wonderful and delicate piano solo. The element of surprise gets you the first time, the brilliant playing every time afterward. When the band actually takes on a song with a half-decent hook all the way through, the results are splendid. The title cut, "She Said Allright," and "Falling Angel" are all winners, and there isn't a single track that is actually a dud. If it was inevitable that Jo Jo Gunne was going to break up, at least they left one consistently good album behind.  

I am looking forward to Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey. Last night, I tried listening to a video on what it gets wrong, and could not finish the video.

 

 

Seems to me an intelligent woman gave a smart answer to a dumb question.  

 Between the content and the comments, I was left thinking what a bunch of wankers. This is no way we are going to understand the mentality, the ethos, of Bronze Age Greeks. Enjoy the spectacle, if it works as a film. And if you think you can do better, then get to work at doing a better version. Lastly, probably every commentator thinks they would be fighting along with Odysseus rather than being a slave; reality would have tipped them towards beign slaves.  

I wonder what they would make of Euripedes' The Trojan Women? 

Meanwhile, soimething more useful and educational: Was Homer’s Ithaca an Island? (Antigone) 

Politics for this morning:

 Depraved by Daisy Dixon review – a history of dark and dangerous art (The Guardian)

In her timely and punchy new book, the philosopher Daisy Dixon explores some of the most controversial artworks ever produced. She’s interested in how an artist’s character can influence their creations, and the harmful effects those creations can have on the world.

She’s not the first. Plato panicked over art’s power to corrupt citizens, while Oscar Wilde celebrated its provocative potential. More recently, Claire Dederer puzzled through the problem of what we ought to do with great art by bad men in her 2023 book Monsters.

Come to Depraved expecting a conventional view of art history and you’ll be disappointed, though. Alongside traditional media from prehistory to the present, including paintings, novels and plays, are more contemporary “art forms” such as video games; there’s also a lengthy tangent on pornography. Some of the stuff is so repulsive it’s hard to read about. There’s talk of live goldfish being pulverised in blenders in the name of performance art, and a film featuring shocking scenes of paedophilia. A video game named Rape Day needs no explanation, but Dixon won’t let you look away 

***

What should our response be? Dixon isn’t shy about supplying an answer. In the past, pieces considered too corrupting for the public gaze were placed in secret collections. She believes depraved art isn’t something to be squirrelled away, but confronted “loudly, angrily, beautifully”: emotions that capture the spirit of this passionate book, which, like those rewritten labels in museums, is going to delight some, and prompt eyerolls in others. “The remedy,” writes Dixon, “is better speech. Better art. Better curation.” She makes it sound so simple.

One thing I have learned from my on-going progression through the bowels of the federal government, from the ICE agent who arrested me to my sentencing to my polygraph sessions to my supervised release - is the perversity of the custodians of public safety who are far more sex-obssessed than I have been since I was a teenager. Some times I feel like others are projecting their obsessions onto me and other times I am the focus of their prurient interests. So, no, better curation may not be the solution. I would add better education, less supersititious fear.

I started JoJo Gunne's 99 Days (Live, 1971) - which I do like, they sound like they might have been a damn good live band, a raucous party band. Why they remind me of Mott the Hoople with harmonies is something I need to think about. 

 

The phone has not arrived and I just noticed it was promised by 9 pm!

That changes my plans for the rest of the day. Do I stay here or go to the grocery? I fixed black beans last night and they need chorizo and cilantro. Definitely cilantro.

There were more things read yesterday, but I am putting them into a post that is more literary.

I have also reached a bit of a crisis point as whether to post submissions or work wholly on the project, then go back to submitting on my fiction. I could do both, if I were nto having these problems where I jsut lose energy and coherent thought.

 Maybe I was just not in the mood for the stuido album

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Lessons Historical and Constitutional

 I am convinced we are in the mess because history has not been taught. Who benefits from this? Those whose power depends on our ignorance.

 

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Mishima's Philosophy! Simeneon A Mystery! More Llosa!

 I read - finally - Mishima in prison. A strangeness - reincarnations, honor, brutality - that incites attraction and also knowing it will be al little (more than a little?) incomprehensible.

 Thomas Berhnard, a name heard of but not having a chance to read. From the following, I wonder if he might give us ideas to work with. I do wish there was not the comparison to Herman Hesse, who Kurt Vonnegut demolished for me more than half my life ago.

 Mario Vargas Llosa is almost as worth listening to as reading.

 

 

Georges Simeneon is more than Maigret:

 

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American Democracy

 A few reminders of what we were and what we were supposed to be.

 

 Three surprising facts about the U.S. Constitution

How we screwed ourselves: 

 

Our problems lie in being a simplistic people (but is this not true of others?) and in not knowing our history (even if true of others, we should be doing better.)

Hamilton & Congresses that were

 

And since it is the 4th of July:

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Friday: Great American Novels, Writing Advice, William T. Vollam Interview; Napping

I did group and grocery shopping and survived the heat, took a nap, and worked through my email and wrote this post. 

May it you something to do, something to think, something to aspire to, and a reminder that the work may not find a perch to hand on. 

 Eight Great American Novels (The New Yorker) being behind a paywill I will give 

• “Miss Lonelyhearts,” by Nathanael West
• “Mating,” by Norman Rush
• “The Last Thing He Wanted,” by Joan Didion
• “Winter in the Blood,” by James Welch
• “Fun Home,” by Alison Bechdel
• “Barkskins,” by Annie Proulx 
• “American Wife” Curtis Sittenfeld 
• “A Thousand Acres,” by Jane Smiley

I know three of the writers and two of the novels, but have read none of them. 

10 Books That Might Be the Great American Novel (Collider). I just cannot agree with numbers 1 & 2.

(4) Kristen Weber (@kristenweber): “One of the biggest misconceptions about editing is that we're looking for mistakes. Most of the time, I'm asking a much bigger question: “What is this story trying to become?” Once I understand that, the direction of my edit letter reveals itself.” 

“We Always Leave Things Unfinished” - by Alexander Sorondo. William T. Vollman is touted as one of our greatest writers. He is dying.

An Ordinary Mind on an Ordinary Day (Lapham’s Quarterly) inspired me to take a nap this afternoon after I returned home and opened this article. Novelists pat yourselves on your back.

She recently coedited The Oxford Handbook of Spontaneous Thought, an anthology that includes an illuminating essay on the history of spontaneous thought. It describes the routines of several highly accomplished historical figures—including Darwin, Beethoven, Dali, and Chandler—who achieved great success despite working a relatively short day (four to five hours) followed by lots of long walks, afternoon naps, loads of unstructured time, and long vacations. It is often not until we leave our desks to wander, whether in mind or body or both, that inspiration strikes.

We moderns tend to attribute the thoughts that arrive unbidden, from “out of the blue,” to somewhere within us, like the unconscious, but in the past, people believed they came from outside us—inspirations from the Muses or the gods. Yet even now, these spontaneous insights or intuitions possess an aura and an authority that ideas delivered by reasoning seldom command. We imbue them with a residue of magic, perhaps because their origin remains something of a mystery.

A devoted novel-reader since her teens, Christoff Hadjiilieva suspects that artists—who “live their thoughts”—may know more about the stream of consciousness than her fellow scientists do.

And a rejection for “Scenes From An Indiana Factory Town”: 

Thank you for your submission to Sunspot Literary Journal. Although we must decline, please know that selecting works for publication can be guided by pieces we've already accepted for the current issue, a focus on specific issues, and other elements that change rapidly. The fact that we have declined your work should in no way discourage you from continuing on this path you've chosen for your life. We greatly appreciated the chance to consider your work.

Creatives like you can change the world. Your perspective is unique. Your efforts to generate something that makes an impact is difficult, and can feel heavy when you work so hard without recognition. Please keep going. The world needs to see things from your perspective. 

 Part of which may have been accepted for publication.

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After Bouncing Around For Two Days A Good Morning, So Far

 I drove down to the polygraph on Wednesday. I passed, of course. Wholly irrelevant questions do not even take much energy to answer truthfully. My biggest worry was the pain that kicked up when I could not slouch in the chair.

Then I drove down to the IU law library. I thought I would stop in Broad Ripple but couldn't find a parking spot and walking far was not an option. The places that were gone when I first got back are still gone. A bus route runs up College Avenue. 

I made a detour out on 16th Street looking for food and cigarettes and found only cigarettes. Still, there were changes, a little cleaning up. 

Coming back into town, I stopped at NafNaf for brunch. They have the hottest hummus I ever had. That would come into play long after I got home.

Three hours scanning cases and emailing them home before I left Indianapolis. By then I only wanted to get to Muncie. Mostly tired of the dumb drivers. We were all going too fast, only somewere going too fast without seeming to pay any attention to the traffic around them. Going down I thought there were going to be three wrecks. Two of which were because of one driver.

Only one scan came through, so wasted time there. Tired, a little dehydrated but I did a little work on the research project and walked something on Netflix. I got a little sick, made a mess, lost of what inspiration I had.

Thursday, I was still feeling disoriented. However, I still had the car so I went off to Payless for meat to fix for breakfast. Protein did not seem to help much.

I got an acceptance on a story. Waiting for confirmation.

The car rental was over at noon, and I got it back there early. I worked a little on background reading for the project before then. A little loopy from Wednesday or the heat or both. I forgot the camera in the car. I figured that out about 2 hours after I got back here (I missed the downtown bus). Back to Enterprise. They had the camera. Then I missed two buses, got stuck out in the heat. A kind owmna at the Motel 6 gave me a bottle of water. I was pretty much wiped out when I got here. I napped for an hour, and that did me no real good. I watched Enola Holmes 3 while working through more law review articles. Why doesn't anyone talk aobut Henry Cavill playing Sherlock Holmes; a bit posh, but he's doing a good job (not going to make anyone forget Jeremy Brett)?

 So, here, I am feeling rather fresh without any caffeine. I did not get much done on the article last night and I have the group thing in a few hours, Which means no more chance to get at it before 2 pm. 

Time to get cleaned up and ready for the world.

 

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Goofing

 Sorry to do this since The New Yorker is mostly behind a paywall, but it has consumed my reading lately.

Colson Whitehead’s Big Score - more than Jonathan Franzen, Ben Lerner, Lethem, or even Michael Chabon, I think Whitehead is the guy to read and think on what he is doing. Even if he hails from New York.

Why the Odyssey Keeps Defeating Filmmakers

On Ogygia, Calypso makes Odysseus an extraordinary offer: if he will stay with her, she will grant him immortality and eternal youth. He refuses, choosing to return to his aging wife and to the certainty of death. If Socrates is the intellectual hero of the ancient world, and Jesus the spiritual hero, Odysseus—hardened, brutal, grief-struck, determined to reclaim his home—is the human hero, the whole man. He accepts death, and that’s one reason he remains essential to us. Nolan faces the challenge of creating a hero for the multiplexes who is ruthless and at times cruel. The audience faces the even greater challenge of accepting a man far more complicated than any superhero of recent years. What’s called for in successfully adapting the Odyssey is a great director and—how else can one put it?—a movie audience capable of courage. 

Consider Why The Odyssey has caused so much controversy. Why complain about a transgender actor or a black one? Who would they have cast? How would they have written the movie or directed it? The director made a choice. The writer made choices. The actors were selected to fit these choices. No one wants to complain about not casting Greeks? Why not complain about not casting real Cyclopes? Why not complain about using English and not Dorian Greek? Purity ultimately kills. Authenticity destroys creativity. Get over yourselves, start creating your own movies, and stop whining about how others do not create to your demands but to their own vision. That seems to be what we are lacking at this time in history: vision.

László Krasznahorkai Writes Because He Fails. Another writer who fascinates me in how he writes and what he writes about. I did a long post earlier today about the Supergirl reviews. This seems to fit in with my obsessions, see what I wrote above about The Odyssey, too. I wonder if technology - especially social media - has made us smaller. Are our imaginations limited by timidity?

So, each novel has emerged from this obsession with perfecting your own prose. Your characters are also obsessives. They are men who seek sacred encounters with rare and beautiful objects: a manuscript, a garden, a whale skeleton, the music of Bach, the books in the New York Public Library, the Acropolis. Almost no one understands or sympathizes with these men. Often, they are destroyed. Some are mutilated. Some die once they realize that, as one character says, “The higher realm had disappeared from the human world.” What is the cost of being obsessed with beauty in the human world, a world of barbarism, where nothing is sacred?

Everything that is beautiful—whether natural or created by human beings, whether created by God or by life itself—exists in an inviolable domain, which never changes. Only we change, only our relationship to this domain changes, our chances of connecting to it change. In the Renaissance, our chances improved, and now in our modern age they have been ruined, our chances of making this perfect beauty appear, of stepping into relation to it, for it to hold our souls.

In my own books, this began to be one of the most important themes for me. I placed this dilemma onto my characters, so that I could tell the story of how they were doing in this question, and how they ended up failing. There is a single personal characteristic to my books: I place my own failures onto this or that character appearing in my novels, so that he is the one to suffer, because I don’t want to suffer anymore.

Are we at an especially low point in our relationship to beauty and an especially high point in our suffering?

There were several ages in human history, and now I’m only speaking of European civilization. From the European cultural point of view there was, here in the Mediterranean, a pragmatic culture which regarded the divine presence as self-evident. To perform a sacrifice in front of a temple so as to influence a god or goddess was not seen as any kind of problem. This kind of relationship made the lives of people living in ancient times unproblematic in terms of the dichotomy between the transcendent and the space of reality. Then, in European culture, Christianity appeared, a religion which made an astonishing discovery, namely, that the primary cause for everything—humans, animals, nature, fertility, the inanimate world, the universe, the cosmos—could be concentrated into one single point. This made everyone calm down, and immediately step into a space where there was no longer any border between the divine and the human real. With regards to human nature, the main question became how this recognition could be distributed throughout a given society, whether in Europe or in the Near East.

Of course, it was never ideal, and it didn’t mean that, as in a fairy tale, everyone could step into some kind of unproblematic relationship with the divine whenever they wanted. God provided a surface for the instance of beauty. This surface was the outward appearance of something, its given form. It was, to express it in very general terms, an entity that could be designated. And then the Renaissance came along, which was also strongly pragmatic, and there were many more possibilities for a so-called educated person, stepping away slightly from the mystical or transcendent relation, to reach a purely human beauty, a beauty created by human means. After the Baroque is when the problems continuously begin to occur. A world divested not of God but of the divine, this was certainly problematic for humankind. You could enjoy it, because the world exists even without God, and we human beings are capable of building whatever we want. Because, well, where are we now?

We’re in a disenchanted technical civilization.

Yet this current technical civilization is astonishingly genial, even with all of its enormous problems, because it appears to be almost unlimited. And since the human being is dangerous, therefore the technical civilization that he has created is also dangerous. But the relation to this border has fundamentally changed. Ever since the Enlightenment, let’s say, the modern human being does not require this relation to the border. Michelangelo is a fridge magnet now. He is a photograph I take as I stand in front of a statue by him. But he is still good. Other things are still good. The “Mona Lisa” is good, that magnificent temple so close to where we’re sitting is good. Everything is good; the main thing is that I can’t experience it.

If we were to ask—how many people are on the planet now, maybe eight billion?—if we were to ask five billion tourists if they knew something about the Acropolis, I think everybody in this room would be very sad. The answer would be, Yes, I saw the Acropolis, it was very beautiful, but let’s say that the sun was shining a lot that day, and I hardly saw anything of the Acropolis, because I didn’t bring my sunglasses. We can call this deterioration, but we could also describe it as something else: that the demands of the modern, postmodern, and post-postmodern person have changed. This person demands a life in which pleasure is granted the primary role. This is a very comfortable attitude for such a creature as man.

It can be imagined that this is not a negative process. The important thing is the beauty that Michelangelo created, or the beauty that was constructed by the genius or geniuses who made the Acropolis. But it is likely that there will be ever fewer of us who feel this way. Our relationship to the past has radically changed. A good half of it is misunderstood. Culture today, during this flowering of European populism, is nothing more than a kind of ridiculous right-wing or extreme-right-wing ideology of tradition, in which culture is noble, and makes me noble, and anyone unwilling to accept this becomes my enemy. A kind of emotional relation comes into being, but it is an absolutely negative emotional relation.

I’m very happy that I’m as old as I am, because I truly feel sorry for the ones who are young. I can lament a cultural age. Perhaps this isn’t even an age in that sense of the term, not in the sense that the Baroque or the Roman or the ancient Greek culture represented an age but, rather, the entire occurrence of human civilization to date represents one single epoch, and that is over. If it is really over, I’m very happy to lament over it.

*** 

 To me, this is unacceptable. The first movement of despair, when a person is uncertain, when they feel frail, is to start looking for a form that will free them from this uncertainty, and then these political ideologies start coming very easily, without any kind of serious philosophical background, or even without any philosophical background whatsoever. When a human being loses his sense of identity, there will be a need for so-called national identity and similarly idiotic ideas. Traditionalism, or clinging to it, is already a political category. Let it remain so, or, better yet, let it not play any role in the political sphere whatsoever, if only because it can only lead to enormous problems.

***

It is clear what rebellion in relation to the part means. In an unbearable situation, it becomes impossible to further withstand a certain state of affairs. Here we are speaking of some concrete matter, a given oppression, layoffs in a factory, a bad pension system, and so on. However, rebellion that relates to the whole gives birth to despair. Human existence senses that something impedes it from subsisting. This is like when a person is in complete darkness, and they see nothing, and they are afraid, they tremble, and they flail around. You must imagine an enormous darkness, where a person is searching for some kind of light, because this person is simply attempting to rebel against the darkness by trying to remedy their own state of despair, and this is the rebellion of the person’s whole mind, namely, it is when a person can no longer withstand their own self, and considers not only human life in a given situation to be unacceptable but also the entire world, the entirety of human civilization, the human condition, and attempts to somehow box themselves out of it. I do not wish any of you to experience this. I do not wish it for you, or for myself.  

I have not seen Doonesbury for maybe 30 years, maybe more, but it got its hooks in me when I was only 18. Now, there is a biography of TRudeau and a review of the biography from  Los Angeles Review of Books, The Deadline Dickens.

Weekly Readings #229 (06/22/26-06/28/26) - by John Pistelli is another provocation, I am never sure if I understand Pistelli's ideas and then I am not sure how to apply, but I still like butting my head against it all.

(3) 52 An Interview with Robert J. Sawyer & The Peking Man  

And that is how I goofed Sunday evening away. 

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