Monday Morning Commute: the whirlybird of universal disconstants
Looking back upon my past, over the past (six months), of the past (several years), two questions have arisen. The first one, perhaps obvious, is: who am I? The second one, perhaps obvious, perhaps not obvious, is: who was I? It’s easy to sift through the wreckage, the diamonds, the wrecked diamonds of your past these days. Facebook and Timehop provide constant reminders of what you were doing, this day, year, years, eons, ago. A feedback loop of experience. Remembering the remembrances, especially if you share those memories of memories. A feedback loop of experience.
I don’t know if I’ve gotten older (slowed down) or I’ve gotten older (matured) or if I’ve gotten older-older. But, this much is certain: I do not recognize the Man piercing time-space from the Linear-Past. Or more accurately: I do not recognize when I stopped being the Man piercing time-space from the Linear-Past, and became the older-older, more haunted, more nostalgic CaffPow.
I swear less and ponder more. I no longer write about wanting to eat chile con queso dip off the bare ass of Jennifer Lawrence (though I would, and I guess I want to). I don’t use caps lock and I have a general disdain for sophistry masquerading as cultural criticism. I don’t want to debate you about what you like, I don’t want to debate you about what I like. You, pl. You, the internet.
When did I change? Why did I change? Do I care that I’ve changed? Did I really change? I don’t know, I don’t know. Perhaps wrongly, I mourn the loss of my previous Iteration from the site’s past. Perhaps wrongly, I mourn that this shift into a more banal, muted Iteration has led to the quiet entropic loss of some of the community.
If only I could want to talk about wanting to crush the ass of Yeoman Kelly aboard the Normandy again.
But I am not that Iteration, nor do I know when this Iteration will pass into Next Iteration. Where is the line of Demarcation?
One thing that is certain is that so long as the RottingLights inside MeatSpaceIan remain on, the lights of the SpaceShip will remain on as well. For all my fatigue at myself, for all my fatigue at the clickbait vomit-storm of misleading headlines and faux-importance of distractionary bullshit the internet-our-culture-thereby-our-lives has become, I still genuinely enjoy your company.
Those of you still left.
Those of you just joining.
Those of you daring to be positive about (slop)pop culture and the general Grind of It All.
I enjoy this very column, Monday Morning Commute. Where the few, the shamed, are happy to congregate every week. Sharing what they’re looking forward to, sharing what they’re looking toward to pull them through the week, sharing what’s on their mind.
I’ll go first. I hope you’ll join me, whatever Iteration of Me this is, will be, has been.
Wrestlemania: Sucked. Except for this fight.
Hardcore Henry: Seeing it this weekend.
Chon: Still listening to.
You’re The Worst: How I feel about adulthood, in one well-articulated, hilarious, beautiful show.
Black Panther: Feels important, arriving Wednesday.
The Expanse: Finished. Want Season 2.
Daredevil: Not finished. Three episodes left.
Enjoying: The white-noise hum of Server Room 188 courtesy of Quiet Cy-Fi: Ambience.
Talking Heads: So good.
Work: work, work, work, work, work.
Firewatch: Maybe play it this week?
That’s it for me, folks. What are you looking forward to this week? What’s on your mind?