I've been thinking about how we lack signifiers to mark the end of one era of our lives and the beginning of another. It feels like, on one hand, we're experiencing the endless iteration of the same, even while the technology which monitors us and controls us is getting better and better. The gap has opened up between quality of life enhancing technology and technologies of power. 1993 looked nothing like 1980, for better or worse; as many have written, 2023 looks a lot 2010. 1
Sunday. In an Uber to rehearsal after playing football all afternoon at the Parade Grounds. Too tired to really move, and running too behind to take the subway. In New York, time, and running short on time, have a very specific price. Lost time is expensive. Yet one still feels lucky to be able to afford it at all.
“The power of the poetic mind is fuelled by ingesting as much of the world as possible, not by retreating into the perilous regions of inner intimacy.” — Adam Zagajewski (on Czeslaw Milosz)
I've been going from place to place, activity to activity, stressor to stressor, peak to peak, valley to valley, and I don't have much or any time for digestion. All of these difficulties, heartbreaks, affections, projects… ardors, enthusiasms, passions, desperations… needs to be worked out internally… otherwise they begin to toxify the bloodstream.