Alert: Your Patience Account is Overdrawn
I charged a bunch of stuff
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‘Lo childs,
Mea culpa, and so forth. It’s so very, very late at night here, and apparently that’s what kind of creature I am naturally, a lurky night-dwelling thing. It’s that horrendous period between about 8:00AM and noon that I can’t stand — I just prefer to see it from the backside, as it were. I wish to greet the sun as it crests the horizon like a supple bottom of cosmic proportions, and then retire to my bunk to process the experience in peace. It’s no time for eating or talking, that’s for damn sure.
This newsletter is delightfully mobile and futuristic, as it comes to you via my phone. Do you whippersnappers do everything on your phones these days? I can’t do it; I’m spoiled by the speed of my computer, and the level of phone I can afford without shackling myself to a corporation is usually pretty old and slow. It’s just not functional to do much on it.
But the allure of getting paid to talk to you, O Best Beloved, was too much to resist. I know I whitter on about capitalism a lot here, but that’s because it’s an ongoing problem, as you may have noticed, one that fucks our ability to do anything but exploit and fear each other. I don’t choose to engage with that shit too much, but that’s a privilege that other people have given their time and energy to create for me. We all try to do that — create space to make something not driven by a fear of starvation — but at this point in history, we have to take turns selling our bodies and brains to the vampires if we want to maintain. Sometimes it’s just your turn to tank capitalism this week, y’know?
And seeing as I’m rambling at you on the clock, there are definitely worse ways to do it; I would know, I’ve done most of them.
Back to vaguely normal next week, finally — finishing up a month of more than full-time training. More art and doings then. Thank you for continuing to allow me to make costly inroads on the expense account of your patience.
