[The Grand River, as seen at sunset from the Bridge Street bridge.]
Another week gone, consumed by the crazy work project. The end is nigh, but it is a combination of an abrupt cliff and a brick wall toward which we are racing headlong. So kind of like life in general.
I am winding down my interactions with Facebook, as Zuck has joined Musk in licking MAGA boots, so Facebook will not stop even the pretense that it isn’t a Nazi bar. Thus it joins Twitter/X, Gab, Rumble, and Truth Social as a safe space for fascists.
Most of my social media presence will now be on BlueSky (until it, too, follows Xitter into the shitter) and Mastodon, which has so far mostly avoided the problem of being owned by billionaire tech bros. We will see how that plays out in the next four years.
Reading
I have finally reached the halfway point of Doctor Zhivago, a month later than I originally expected. It is very, very good.
Writing
While sitting at a cafe yesterday morning before work I knocked out a rough draft of a poem about the Los Angeles wildfires. I might leave it at that, as the subject is so fucking depressing.
Subject: Empire, Aliens
Setting: Bar
Genre: Technothriller
Listening
Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds” has been bouncing around my head lately, for no particular reason, other than that, fifty-five years later, it is still a hell of a song.
Interesting Links
- The 2025 State of the World conversation over at The Well. Some good thinking going on here, as always.
