Wasteland Wrap-up #17

Processing the last week, Blindsight, chymistry, lessons from the 1950s...

Well, here we are. Wherever that is. I’m still processing the events of the last week, working through the various emotions, “takes,” conclusions, and so on. But I’m not a pundit, so you won’t be getting any “hot takes” on the situation here. What does the future hold? I don’t know — as an eminent (read: ancient) historian in my field once chided me, when I was an undergraduate and asked him something along these lines, historians struggle to understand the past, and so the future is another matter altogether. The hard question for me is and continues to be, is this an Emergence?

Lyndon considering urinating on a fitting visual representation of American journalism: rusted, decaying, defunct, and mostly a place for graffiti and the scribblings of lunatics and fools.

ICYMI: On Doomsday Machines, following up on my Bob Dylan post from the week before, I wrote about one of my favorites of Dylan’s songs, “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall,”: Where black is the color, where none is the number. It wasn’t exactly what I was planning on writing about this week, but it’s sort of where I was this week. I started writing it mid-week, and it just dropped off into an abyss. On Friday I was able to add the final few paragraphs, which are a little less abyss-like, but no false hope, here!