Opportunity Simulacra

Good morning; a growlfest over the dogbed under my desk has come to a draw. Battle lines continue.

I am, according to my new doctor, healthy (other than that T1D thing, but I'll take what I can get). Tetanus shot and resultant blood sugar surge which should abate over the next day or so. Bloodwork next week for a fuller picture – fasting, which should be interesting: all persons within a five mile radius would be advised, next Thursday morning, to keep arms and hands away from me until at least 0800.

Thinking: my frustration with this area where comfort and tradition is valued above all else lies not in lack of "opportunity" itself, but in a lack of opportunity for chance, for serendipity; 99% of everything worthwhile in my life has come about because I wasn't actively seeking something; it sort of appeared – with the caveat being that I was, from a craft standpoint, ready for it to do so. Further: a recognition that I'm screwing myself by trying to create those chance / serendipitous opportunities via digital means (which is one of the great illusions of the social mediascape); it's like trying to create a tree from cut wood: I can stack the pieces into a simulacrum, but nothing new grows.

That said, I still love thinking here and putting these whatevers into the world. A useful brain salve between chunks of work. Dogchildren require sustenance; TSR intro/segue/outro recording later today.

STALKER (1979)

I’m hard-pressed to enjoy post-apocalyptic stories but leave it to Tarkovsky – in my first experience with his work (better late than never, I suppose) – to live up to the legend and make this one of my favorite films.

Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky from a script by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. Starring Alisa Freindlick, Alexander Kaidanovsky, Anatoly Solonitsyn, and Nikolai Grinko. Released 25 May 1979.

Current Frequencies, Updated

Periodic frequency update: this space is now fully part of my creative process, part of the ritual of the day: I like writing and thinking and sharing here, even if it’s only to/for myself. And these days, that’s all that matters to me.

And so it is; current frequencies, then:

  • Daily / wheneverwhatevers live here, via RSS. (The comment system is live.)

  • MacroParentheticals: monthly-ish (two-three postings a month: a monthly wrap up + notifications of new, early, and exclusive stuff): you can sign up here.

  • Socialized Recluse podcast (whenever I publish them): RSS | Apple Podcasts.

  • Email: tww(AT)parentheticalrecluse(DOT)com.

Camp Plague Departure / National Stage

One of those torturous writing mornings where nothing comes and everything feels shit. Still seeking that small detail.., that rhytmic manifestation of something... a pervasive thought that there's a flaw in my thinking WRT this story that I can't yet see… meanwhile: K off with her sixth graders to Camp Plague, outdoor activities and such. Omnipresent worry for the next couple of days; I'm sure that the Camp Plague departure is at least somewhat to blame for said feelings of writing-shit.

Growing mild to moderate obsession with the 1916 German version of PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, the first film adaptation of Leroux's story; never knew it existed – and, apparently, none of it does; it’s considered longlost – until I fell into a rabbit hole when the words weren't coming. (At least I learned something.)

Speaking of learning something: my hometown has reached the national stage for one of its own being the asshole who assaulted an MSNBC reporter covering Hurriance Ida; perhaps worth noting that, in a description of a crime previously committed by said asshole, the article included the following: "Surveillance showed that he drilled into tanks containing sodium cyanide, hydrochloric acid, yellow chromate, ferrous chloride and sulfuric acid, the news site reported."

Keeping tradition a part of our future, indeed. The day awaits.

HobbyForts

Good morning. I have fixed a pencil sharpener – or at least removed the offending blockage: this is the morning's great achievement.

As per usual, nothing is singing to me in the Main Thing – though I might have found an interesting narrative chord with which to improv: "When something's not coming, it's coming, " as Nick Cave reminds us. (This is what I tell myself.)

Efforts continue to shift writing – mentally (writing is and always will be my profession, my Work) – back to being a hobby, to playing, to recapture that sense of falling in love with process and losing time to it (much as my wife is capable of in her garden and how, growing up, I used to love nothing more than waking up before everyone, pulling my covers off the bed, making a fort, taking my action figures inside, and concocting all sorts of stories and adventures), stopping only at alarms – and then, begrudgingly so. Podwork/LifeEtc feels more like the job than the writing, a less-selfish balance to the pervasive selfishness of writing.

Speaking of: interview for TSR0008 today.

Links, 30aug2021