Foxscrolling

Proof of life. Not via words

As in, does anyone actually need essays from me? Here?

The paradox: the more time you spend on Substack, the less time you want to write your own words.

(I suppose that is baked into the design of the app, hey ho.)

No shade, btw, on all of you industriously scribing away. God how I envy you.

I thank the lord I don’t have a paid sub switched on here. The overwhelming shame I’d feel that I’d let down my side of the contract. I’d die.

Writer doesn’t write, for no money shock.

(I am writing some bits for money, elsewhere, mostly in PPT slides and under NDAs. So you’ll never see it.)

But also: I thought this place was meant to be ruminative, encourage contemplation.

I have contemplated myself into a silent abeyance, it appears.

Or maybe London’s endless heat has drained my desire to issue opinions and proclamations and so forth.

The streets appear in a haze. So does my mind.

Anyway: I have been mulling an idea the last few days. It’s nuts, it’s cray, it’s perilous. I want to tell you what it is because I want someone tell me it’s mad, you’re mad, do it anyway.

Can you tell I’m dodging the work I really need to do?

I hate being a neophiliac. Being more fox than hedgehog right now is default yes, but utterly draining. The systems demand it.

(We should call it 'foxscrolling’ not ‘doomscrolling’. AHA, an idea!)

If I pray enough, will I get focus, gumption and other such things that are meant to be necessary to get something done?

Mercury’s still retrograde, I swear it.

Anyway, this was going to be a photo essay. Here’s some things caught in time over the last few weeks.

Maybe I need to quit and become a photographer.

If I end this saying “more soon”, you’re all smart enough to know I really mean, “less later”.