Tuning in earlier this evening to Biden's address on ending his campaign for re-election—heard on the radio, his voice audibly fragile and talking of kings and dictators, the idea of America in its people's hands—felt a lot closer to catching a late fireside chat by FDR than I am used to my presidential broadcasts sounding. It gave me an unexpected emotional reaction and I hope the parallel is proven to be an artifact of my general immersion in the last century rather than the trajectory of this one. I have donated to the Harris campaign.
The problem with the construction is not just that it is generally disruptive and exhausting, I have finally realized that thanks to the combination of my natural nocturnal rhythms and the pain-driving insomnia which has worsened so badly over the last few years, it is hitting me right when I should be entering REM and I am not sure that my body is establishing any kind of normal sleep cycle afterward. It is difficult for me to fall back asleep once woken and even if I manage it, the constant noises and vibrations leave me feeling as though I am thinly dozing more than actually sleeping. I have weird shallow flashes of dream or just the sense that I have lain awake for an impossible number of hours listening to the beeping of trucks and the juddering of jackhammers even through the earplugs which I dislike sleeping in to begin with. This month has been back-to-back with physical stresses and I am wondering if on some actual neurochemical level I am recuperating from any of them. I don't feel that I can think in any meaningful fashion and it is frustrating to me. I would much rather be talking about movies.
Gwynne Garfinkle's Sinking, Singing (2024) is forthcoming this fall from Aqueduct Press and I highly recommend getting hold of a copy. Its eleven stories are a showcase of moments as disquieting and liberating as a virtuoso punk setlist or a marathon of films from a different Hollywood, each tilting the world to another quizzical angle of sirens and robots, extinction and reinvention, remixed history and warped discographies. It should come with a companion CD, never mind that its most important tracks come from a music industry of the author's imagination. You can hear them in these unpredictable pages. Malfunctions unleash the beauty of surprise.
The problem with the construction is not just that it is generally disruptive and exhausting, I have finally realized that thanks to the combination of my natural nocturnal rhythms and the pain-driving insomnia which has worsened so badly over the last few years, it is hitting me right when I should be entering REM and I am not sure that my body is establishing any kind of normal sleep cycle afterward. It is difficult for me to fall back asleep once woken and even if I manage it, the constant noises and vibrations leave me feeling as though I am thinly dozing more than actually sleeping. I have weird shallow flashes of dream or just the sense that I have lain awake for an impossible number of hours listening to the beeping of trucks and the juddering of jackhammers even through the earplugs which I dislike sleeping in to begin with. This month has been back-to-back with physical stresses and I am wondering if on some actual neurochemical level I am recuperating from any of them. I don't feel that I can think in any meaningful fashion and it is frustrating to me. I would much rather be talking about movies.
Gwynne Garfinkle's Sinking, Singing (2024) is forthcoming this fall from Aqueduct Press and I highly recommend getting hold of a copy. Its eleven stories are a showcase of moments as disquieting and liberating as a virtuoso punk setlist or a marathon of films from a different Hollywood, each tilting the world to another quizzical angle of sirens and robots, extinction and reinvention, remixed history and warped discographies. It should come with a companion CD, never mind that its most important tracks come from a music industry of the author's imagination. You can hear them in these unpredictable pages. Malfunctions unleash the beauty of surprise.
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