< summer stretches on

08/02/18 (01:15)

With any luck the site is now able to support html within statuses, allowing for links and minimal formatting, which has always been the case with the written material. Status bodies also no longer change color with mouseover, which is a little distracting and no longer consistent with the rest of the site (the original reason for this mouseover change being the harshness of bright text on a very dark background, which I think people can handle if they need to). Readability is always foremost, but I will not be convinced to change to a light theme, at least not by default. Otherwise, navs have been added to the bottom of lists, status pagination is now begun after twelve statuses have accumulated, and library objects now show nothing in their main body by default, a fact which should slowly change as I take the time to add meaningful content to them (my own descriptions, ratings, reading status). Summaries of more future changes (a couple static files I am going to host, specialties about back-paging, etc.) can be found on my github.

Summer is going to continue meaning writing profuse personal statements that I will have to mail around the continental United States and beyond with the hopes of convincing people that I am worth sincere investment. This is paired with gathering up numbers (test scores) that will tell these people, not whether or not I will be successful, but whether or not it is easy to exclude me as definitely not successful (probably, they hope). In some ways this is forcing me to curate an honest and structured representation of my life and its efforts so far, because I don't even really mind that the whole thing is a little subjective and game-able with funding or parental encouragement or the right adjectives. Everything is going to be my personal projection anyway—anyone can pour time into something and choose that something to represent their most concerted effort. Even if someone is not practiced in something, they can claim (rightly) to care about that thing. So for the next two months I just need to project my caring and (depending on the program) talk about that care as if it is something I am (1) sincere about (2) self critical but sincerely self critical about, w/r/t/ all life choices being self limitations or (3) sort of competently blasé or headstrong about in a way that speaks to competence but also not self pity of paralysis. I have to be mobile money. I can play these parts; we can all learn these parts.

Otherwise I have been buried in media, which I always tell myself I must love because how terrible and hammy and gross is it to want to put out media while hating all other media, and which I have recently rediscovered that I actually love—and not just the polished reserved nuanced stuff either. I am talking real fun stuff like this and strange books by strange poets like this, and that there are still wacky things in the world that don't just feel wacky in gross or disaffected ways: like late-empire opulent ways, which is one form of humor and motivation that I feel less and less every day.

Every month I am surprised by how interested in the moon I become, not because I think its presence portends certain things (although it does induce me to notice it, and thus think about that which it might portend) but because it forces me to stop for a little: mentally rolodex through everything I know about this thing I have no direct communication with. I want to interrogate a little more how the idioms of physics I've subjected myself to have altered the moments when I am most prescient, or otherwise most patient, or otherwise most wistful for the things I have forgotten to do or not applied myself to or otherwise messed up.

I think that wherever I end up I will keep manufacturing my own restlessness. It is a little like drinking coffee on an empty stomach: the same brief clarity leading to perhaps lasting, transcendental creativity, but also the banal, back-of-the-throat bitter comedown that lets you know that the nausea/jitters are your doing. I can't express properly that this is both a severe form of trying or attempt, but also totally formulaic and almost always unsuccessful (success being of course the thing that can't be seen until it's seen, and thus to say something is unsuccessful is to say practically nothing at all, and this lack of accountability to one's little failures is why we keep doing this stuff: e.g., working at a restaurant to support an artsy life, or buying a house in the suburbs with a garage workshop).

The truth is that none of these things are bad to do or think about in the deep dark heart of the night, or whatever. I'll try to write happy things and also this.

No citations.