Not much to see at the mo

I’m resuscitating the blog, but at the moment it is only a motley collection of previous posts stretching over the last decade or so. Just back away slowly and come back in a few weeks. Merci!


We fetishize priorities and time management like we do every other fucking thing in our collaborative ahistorical narcissism. We wallow in postmodern digital overload; we wail about attention and time poverty; we spend time–lots of time–screwing around with tools and techniques to feel like we have control over the speed at which we live our lives, and what we choose to find or make important.

Time to get over it. Really. Whether it takes a slap in the face, a bump on the head, or a heart attack, recognizing that it is all a self-fulfilling fantasy of egoism and that–in the end–the amount of shit the universe (or really anyone) gives is precisely and ultimately zero, is the first step.

There is lots of time and lots of attention. Like Marx’s Capitalist, the contemporary Zeitgeist exists to alienate you from both. Fuck that. They’re yours. If you can’t protect them and nurture them there is no one to blame but yourself. And while we’re at it, can we all agree to just quit fucking talking about them as well?

Get on with life.

50 shades of dead writers, thoughts for writers off to Paris

50 shades of dead writers, thoughts for writers off to Paris

A new little short piece over at Medium on the dangers of heading off to Paris to write.

I’ve spent the last month encamped in Montparnasse, what was for a couple of decades the beating heart of the American literary colony in Paris. I’ve drunk champagne sitting—literally—on the same sidewalk, in the same seat, and looking at the same buildings that Hemingway did as he was hammering his way through The Sun Also Rises. That in the same cafe the Dadaist movement died and Apollinaire seduced the minds and bodies of his lovers seems almost prosaic. […read more]