2018-06-07

sovay: (Rotwang)
I am just not sleeping very much. I keep being woken by either construction or early-morning phone calls. Tomorrow I have an early-morning doctor's appointment! The construction is grinding and chattering next door as we speak.

Today is Alan Turing's yahrzeit. June 7, 1954. I just discovered this gorgeous image of him and Christopher Morcom, drawn by Keith Negley for The Who, the What, and the When: 65 Artists Illustrate the Secret Sidekicks of History (2014):



It reminds me of Chagall and his lost roofs of Vitebsk. It reminds me of my own work, the ghost poem of possible histories I wrote them both. When it was reprinted in Spelling the Hours (2016), I wrote for the requested author's note, "Christopher Morcom was born 13 July 1911, died 13 February 1930. Alan Turing was born 23 June 1912, died 7 June 1954. For different reasons, they should both have had more life. Memory is all you can give the dead, so be careful: whatever you wish them, let it be neither genteel erasure or comfortable myth-making. Both are often so much more convenient than the truth." I only feel more strongly about this as time passes in this culture that seems ever more determined to overwrite the past. I have to watch out for it myself. I pair them eternally and so does the history of science and there are Alan's own reasons for that, but if he had been chaste to Christopher's memory, there would have been nothing for an unjust law to catch him doing. He loved and mourned and remembered and he had other lovers. He did not mate for life with a ghost.
sovay: (Psholtii: in a bad mood)
And then I spent most of today dealing with the fact that I arrived at my doctor's office to discover that our health insurance provider had canceled our coverage slightly more than two weeks ago. That would be the day [personal profile] spatch brought them a whole sheaf of proof of residence and income, which we had already established to the state's apparent satisfaction when we enrolled in our current plan at the start of the year, but which all of a sudden we were being asked to prove all over again or risk being kicked off as cheats and shirkers. That would also be the day on which I paid our monthly health insurance bill as I had carefully made sure I was supposed to, given the abrupt uncertainty about our eligibility, which I was assured was no longer an issue. So I gave them the money. And they lost our proof of eligibility—misfiled, fed to the dog, I couldn't tell you—and canceled our coverage. Which it would have been nice to know, oh, let's say about two weeks ago. So not only did I not get to see my doctor this afternoon because I can't afford to pay out of pocket for anything in this country, there are now several appointments behind me which no one said jack about my insurance not covering at the time. I spent my evening recompiling the sheaf of residence and income and then finding somewhere from which to fax it after business hours, which turned out to be the Staples in Fresh Pond. Tomorrow I get to call MassHealth and make sure they actually received it and I did not just throw even more money away for nothing. For evil to triumph, according to the popular reception of Edmund Burke, good just has to stand around doing nothing, right? It is equally evil to build systems that, if not actively interfered with, will get people killed.
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