# Resolutions: 1. fewer phone checks 2. bit of a break from “art” & “philosophy” 3. go ahead and say the thing, even if it’s “normal” or whatever 4. bodily self-care—stay snatched, sister! 5. use any and all keyboards, however you want/they want (the *house* wants me to type, not the imagined audience demands a certain thing of me) Five is enough. Probably more than enough. God it feels good to type and not give a shit again. Other things I want to do include have fun taking pictures, play games with friends, drink coffee, appreciate lights and signs of life, music, eat heartily in the morning and not so much later at night. Continue working on the slow-motion art project that is my house. Become a one-car household, for better or worse. Be aware of when I’m hyping up fantasy-daydream-land or otherwise bullshitting myself, gently adjust without self-loathing. O god, this oatmeal is gonna be so good. Whatever’s good is accidental. *Accidentally on purpose:* that’s my main engine. You need a platform capable of endless generation of detail, specifics, variations, evolutions, etc. The platform (or what I used to call the “system” of the moment) takes the pressure off any individual node to “be” any particular thing. The individual index card becomes beautiful, perfectly alive, because it is part of the whole stack. The little rectangular serendipitous layout of pictures formed by looking through the different panes of a window from where you sit—that is a perfect, lovely gallery because it is an irretrievable moment, a state in the game of life; those particular cells are lit up or not in their own particular pattern and you love them but ALL the particular patterns are just as sacred and you love them all, the ones you’ve seen or will see plus the ones you can or can’t even imagine. The platform, system, or game takes the pressure off and allows the play to happen. OK so last year on this day I inserted in my journal file: the ongoing lack of a perfect solution for what the cuboid was striving towards looks like it has to be either just plain text files + scripting or automation as needed, or else I really do need to learn how to program my own whole shit from the bottom up; there’s no “software” by someone else that’s going to fit perfectly or even really close to perfectly Hmmm, I wonder how TYPING could again be part of the next part of the “solution” to that? 010524 truly, weed makes everything worse. sitting here can’t sleeping because: breathing is cinched up, the way it gets heart flutters tera restless (couldn't move for an hour cuz didn't want to disturb her) am sick missed out on going to chi to see megan with tom because (am sick) and finally, regret selling truck. I know it says “become a one car household” up there and I guess? that must have sounded good at the time? But now it just sounds like: barely even saving any money on the insurance; i was completely wrong about that and i feel scammed even though technically i should have known or been able to know can't throw the bikes in and just go anymore what if i wanna buy a couch, how'm i supposed to get it home? anticipate missing the rumble and the compliments anticipate missing my dad Oh. Yeah I guess maybe that is the biggest reason for the regret. Well, so it’s a regret. So I made a decision—I took *time* but I’m not sure how or what or how much I was *thinking* during that time—anyway, I made a decision and right now I feel like it was a wrong one, or a bad one, or just one I wish I hadn’t made. But I did. Regret’s like cold weather: reminds you you’re alive; is real. Is real. That’s one thing you can say about it. Not a good thing or a bad thing; just a thing. Well, I suppose nothing’s stopping me from starting to save up for another truck. Maybe a Colorado.... the long(er) bed option? or Ford Maverick... (hybrid version?) (Meanwhile acknowledging that no truck will ever be as good as that one.) 011324 #treefrog the grade is a decoy the “tech collective” webinars was a decoy—they’re not trying to teach EVERYONE who attends the little classes ALL THE THINGS about HTML. They’re casting the net and hoping that a few “people who are sparked” by this stuff will go on and do something interesting and disruptive against the enshittification regimes. Everyone else fine, you’re welcome, enjoy, have a hobby, whatever, but you are not the cheese that baits this trap. The hypothetical, the potential future hacker who hacks the gig employers apps, who uncaptures the regulatory capture done by companies wielding apps as IP (“An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a felony to add an ad-blocker to it” as doctorow said)—that’s the payload. It’s not one you can see today. It’s a statistics game. It’s a long shot. There’s way way way more water than fish. Sound familiar? that’s what teaching is too. Fuck it, don’t get into an argument about a grade. Nobody cares. Nobody whose first concern is the grade is probably learning anything (from your “curriculum”) anyway. Make the motions, circulate the papers, jump the hoops, get good enough at meetings to where nobody will question you, declare the grades, get the paycheck and then get back to work sending out signals to the ones who actually care—your fellow magic users, the would-be literate, the naive, the surprised & the surprising, the future of “art”—them’s your real students, and them’s your real teachers, I don’t care what you gotta say to get a job. 011624 i’m fucking exhausted and i ain’t done anything but grade. it’s fucking cold out. im exhausted of all the information. fuck going for a SHORT walk BABY steps to try and build up some adipose brown lololololol fuck me 012624 I needed a window looking out on the street, like Kafka said, I mean I needed a window with a little table such as I might have in a cafe, looking out on the street. Yes, even if it’s just 71st street. It will have to do. So now I have that. My living room looks a little janky now because of it, but it’s all part of my long-range plan to have more and more of my house look like a fractal, labyrinthine café. Grin. A walk on Oakland made me think of this. All those windows. So many windows. I want a catalog of all the windows in Milwaukee. Like Saramago’s *All the Names.* And all the cats. The living and the dead. 012824 Beast modes aren’t about *food,* they’re about *time.* They also aren’t the end of the fucking world. No, the end of the fucking world was a highly entertatining BBC tv show. Beast modes on the other hand are just another hand in the ongoing card game of your negotiations with your own skin. Another day, another sage chicken wrap. Staying fascinated with eating is barbaric. Everyone’s a barbarian sometimes. As long as beast mode is not “the sum total of [y]our emotional landscape”[^1] then you should be fine. [^1]: https://van-magazine.com/mag/peter-schickele-pdq-bach/