Anywho, How Are You Really?
Time and Space are the names of people I once knew.
For the past few months I've been writing an essay on AI and my general ambivalence about its growing use. It's been on my mind a lot recently (among many things) and writing a circuitous essay into the subject has been a way to navigate my inner conflict. I had every intention of publishing that essay this month—but the more I researched and wrote, the more disillusioned I've become. Now, I find myself incredibly weary. That kind of thesis driven writing takes a kind of certainty and steadfastness about reality that I quite frankly, do not feel right now. Instead, I feel like a loose hair. I feel like I walked into a room and can't remember what I came in for—only it's not a room, it's May 2025. Time and Space are the names of people I once knew. Every few minutes I pick up my phone to look at something—and end up watching videos of nature while I'm sitting outside in actual nature. So, I decided to wait to share that essay until I feel a little less bleary.
Blear is so close to Blur, which is also how life feels right now. Blurry. The etymological meaning of blur is about ink, yes, but also signifies a particular kind of moral stain. Oh, how this moment blurs. Everything is smudged by suffering, genocide, and tyranny which keep multiplying. Remember on old Microsoft systems when the computer would lag so you'd click too many times on a document until suddenly it would open over and over and over until eventually the computer crashed? Reality feels like that—regenerating itself as I panic over whether I've saved my progress.
Today I saw a friend who I hadn't seen since December, and when she asked, "how are you?" I felt everything evaporate inside. Nothing was there. How was I? I fumbled to answer her question, and I'm fumbling again writing this. As if I could foresee the answer to "how are you?" in The Odyssey, I picked up Emily Wilson's translation and flipped to a random page. My finger landed in Book 17 when Theoclymenus, a seer, comes to tell Penelope and Telemachus by prophecy that Odysseus has returned to Ithaca. I wanted a fortune, and got one—it just wasn't mine. I don't mean anything deep by bringing up The Odyssey. It's not some secret metaphor. I'm simply so exhausted by the constant surveillance of my prefrontal cortex, that I have to remind myself how to let my experimental, unconscious curiosity guide me too. Curiosity and wonder are my only antidotes to the bleary and dazed confusion that visits me daily.
Soon, I will share the piece I wrote about AI. It's been a long process but I'm really excited about it, and a little nervous too. It will be shaped and stated like an essay, unlike this, which feels like a slightly polished but chaotic voice memo. Perhaps you feel bleary too, unsure how to answer the proverbial question—how are you? I won't put you on the spot. However you are, I hope you are holding tight to your antidotes.
Anywho, just wanted to say hi.
