Dispatch #1
small thoughts for now: a bergman film, meursault, a boardgame recommendation, critterhood & sainthood
Albert (blue-billed curassow) at the National Aviary.
It has been hard to write. I have too many things bouncing around in my mind, and they are all in the process of development. These days I feel the strength of my analysis like a river: ever pressing, pushing, seeping into new cracks, creating new fissures. Always moving, nearly impossible to catch.
In this time of rapidity, and in the spirit of my mind feeling like white water, I am intro’ing a new format here: the dispatch. Quick notes — sometimes urgent and perhaps sometimes (if lightening strikes) poignant, but more likely just little glimpses into my daily life and what is buzzing about in my head. What to expect: musings on media I’ve consumed recently; hangnail thoughts that won’t go away — no matter how much I gnaw at them, and some questions I have for you. I hope you’ll share what is buzzing in your own mind. Your emails are comments are always coveted.
Stevie and I have been blessed by great neighbors! Recently, two of our lovely neighbors have started up a movie night. Last Monday we watched Ingmar Bergman’s Persona. You should know: I’m not a film buff by any means, but this work felt explosive, popping and fizzing with all manner of theories of the self, and no doubt it will reward a rewatch. The boldness (and embarrassment) of vulnerability met by mute study made me think all kinds of rough thoughts about the sacrament of Confession (please excuse my pope-pilled brain), the silence of God, and the cruelty of our clinics and care.
Speaking of the silence of God, I recently read Kamel Daoud’s The Meursault Investigation, a sort of post-colonial sequel of Camus’ The Stranger. When I was a kiddo, I spent too much time smoking clove cigarettes and drinking vermouth (okay, maybe not vermouth, but cheap vodka doesn’t sound as existential). I wish someone would have put this work in my hands. Much like Camus’ novel did, Daoud creates a character who slaps you in the face with the most apparent skeletal truths, while presenting an utterly repulsive mentalscape. This book frustrated me in so many ways, both good and bad. I recommend it to any lingering Camus fans, but that recommendation does not come along with an endorsement. If you pick it up, let me know — we’ll drink black coffee, roll our own, and tear it all apart on some bright cafe patio while the sun glares down at us.
Bought, played, and lost Daybreak, a cooperative board game about stopping climate change. I played as Europe alongside Stevie and the neighbors, and thought I was doing great by reducing my emissions little by little and implementing nuclear power. BAM! In just four turns the whole world was hit by crisis after crisis — thawing permafrost, acidifying oceans, the death of the Amazon, bludgeoning storms, eco-fascist takeovers — tipping point after tipping point, triggering the apocalypse. Despite the bleak topic, the game is fun and beautiful and makes the point (without feeling preachy) that bold action is needed sooner rather than later. My slow and steady approach did not cut it. There’s a lot to be unpacked here about incrementalism. We can’t wait to play again.
I’m a critter! You’re a critter! I’ve spent a lot of time having grumpy opinions about the ways in which we Americans conceptualize “self-care” or “joy.” Our lives are hollowed out by capitalism: we lack community, resiliency, creative outlets, meaningful work. Animals that we are, it is only natural to seek comfort — impulse buys at Target, endless hours of TV, anything available to help us dull the alienation and disappointment through easy dopamine spikes. I am frustrated with this impulse in myself, so I have been grounding myself in my critterhood. My whole body — your whole body — has evolved to light up with pleasure and goodness from the natural world. A few years back, I read about a study of the health impacts of viewing bodies of water. Near-immediate physiological responses associated with relaxation, calm, peace. Imagine yourself in your critterhood: foraging for berries and roots to share with your community, knowing the names of flora and fauna the way you know the names of your cousins, migrating across open country to find a more suitable place to live. You come across a river, a great lake, a coastline. Water signals a good place, a place to make a life, a place that can became a home. Security, stability, a future. There are days when I find myself groping in the dark, searching for any evidence of a future. I am trying to cultivate a life where I can find antidotes to that despair in the natural world and in community, rather than in my programming to buy things and look away.
I’ll write more on this later, but: Sunday I attended the Imaginary Crimes tour, a traveling presentation about the ATL cop city RICO case. I told Stevie last night: I don’t know if it’s the catholic in me or what, but when I’m in the presence of these beautiful, brave people facing down such brutal state repression, I’m overwhelmed. One of the best things about catholic tradition is the understanding that saints are just normal people, but something about their lives, discipline, virtue seemed otherworldy. But still, they are normal. Flesh and blood, laughing, drinking too much beer, occasionally slapping people at an ecumenical council, prone to their own failings and weaknesses — just people. All that to say: there are saints among us, and the 61 RICO defendants — not a one(!!!) who has taken a plea, despite the tremendous violence the State has threatened them with — well, I reckon we’d all be instructed by a Weelaunee hagiography. I know I would.
Thinking is often best done with others. I’m curious to learn more about what you’re reading and thinking about. As always: comments and email are open.