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Kieran Healy has just become a citizen of the U.S.A.:
I know the nationalities of my fellow oath-takers because of the next stage of the ceremony. This was the Roll Call of Nations. I did not know this was going to happen. Every country of origin represented was announced in turn. As your country was named, you were asked to stand up, and remain standing. Afghanistan came first. Then Algeria. The last person to stand, immediately to my left, was from the United Kingdom. There were twenty seven countries in all, out of only fifty or so people. For me this part in particular was enormously, irresistibly moving. It perfectly expressed the principle, the claim, the myth — as you please — that America is an idea. That it does not matter where you are from. That, in fact, America will in this moment explicitly and proudly acknowledge the sheer variety of places you are all from. That built in to the heart of the United States is the republican ideal not just that anyone can become an American, but that this possibility is what makes the country what it is.
I understand that many people work in soul-sucking corporate jobs that remind you of the uselessness of your efforts while keeping you shackled to doing them. And that sucks. But that’s a symptom of a much larger toxicity within late capitalism, and I can assure you that figuring out how to just do nothing is not going to fix your feelings of purposelessness and malaise. Indeed, many people find that they achieve escape from the drudgery of contemporary white collar existence through finding avenues to actually work in more intuitively meaningful and purposeful ways. Sometimes that means leaving their actual jobs for other types of employment that are more tangible and satisfying, oftentimes at the expense of making less. For others, this means embracing hobbies enjoyed in their off-hours that look an awful lot like jobs — building things, crafting things, fixing things. People get through “work” to then go engage in activities that many human beings once regarded as enervating labor. We’re a funny species like that. And yet alongside this persistent human attachment to various forms of effort and creation that sure do resemble an unpaid job, you have this seemingly limitless ambient sense that all forms of effort are best avoided, that if you can find a way to fob work off on someone (or some algorithm) else, you should, that we are all looking to find more time in which to be in a state of total leisure. But leisure is only really satisfying when it exists in contrast with purposeful effort.
A couple of years ago I wrote something along these lines.
I’m conscious of the fact that it is, in some sense, stupid of me not to be on Substack. At the very least, I could be sending my newsletter for free, instead of paying a hundred bucks a month! Yet I suppose I think it’s the stupid choices that are the important ones. And I suppose I think the standard for art is that it doesn’t just play the game, but invents it. On an internet crowded with creators climbing over each other to obey each platform’s demands, follow its Best Practices (which harden into mandatory genres: quick-setting concrete), there is, I believe, an incandescence to stubborn specificity.
Everything in this post could’ve been siphoned straight from my brain. This is exactly why I’m on the open web rather than on a platform that, while increasingly prominent, is also increasingly enshittified.
“Far Away Blues” (1923):
We left our southern home and wandered north to roam
Like birds, went seekin’ a brand new field of corn
We don’t know why we’re here
But we’re up here just the same
And we are just the lonesomest girls that’s ever born
How Does God Say “I Love You”? - Mockingbird:
But the word that shows our need is also the word that loves us in and overcomes our need. The answer to the anguished “Who will deliver me?” is the merciful surprise of grace: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord… There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” This is the well that washes, the word that gives the crucified and risen Jesus and thereby does the divine work that raises the dead, forgives the sinner, and finally says to the fearful and lonely, “You are my beloved child.”
This is my friend Jono Linebaugh talking about his The Well That Washes What It Shows: An Invitation to Holy Scripture. It’s a superb book, especially for people who are new, or relatively new, to the Bible. It’s full of hope.
16 June 1939 the Daily Telegraph ran the following news story:
Village children at Hurst House School, Staplehurst, Kent, are being given regular television lessons in school. Nearly all the children come from nearby farms.
Citizenship and ‘general knowledge’ are taught through the study of news reels and the televising of events like Trooping the Colour and the departure of the King and Queen for Canada
The television lessons have been started by the headmaster, Mr H. Farrington, who says that television and the informal talks that follow the programme are probably of more real educative value to the children than most lessons given in class.
And so it begins.
As if all of this hassle wasn’t enough, consider the fact that you have to tend the turntable like a fire, flipping and adding logs as needed. And that’s where all of this inconvenience pays off. Like a fire, those records keep you company, asking for nothing but a little reciprocity and attention in return for sharing their warmth. It’s not something unfair and it’s not something unreasonable. They just ask you to care.
My phone asks me to turn on notifications. It also asks me to share my location data, install updates, and rate my in-app experiences. Sometimes scrolling on it literally makes me car sick but it keeps asking me to scroll, ignorant of my displeasure.
Smartphone life makes me miss the good old days when everything was a little more scarce and a little more meaningful. We missed our friends when we didn’t know what they were up to every second. We looked forward to taking girls on dates instead of staring at strangers on Onlyfans. Going to the video store to rent a few movies was an event in and of itself. What could feel more like the good old days than sitting next to the fire, cell phone on silent in another room, while enjoying the annoying crackle of remnant dust stuck in the supposedly ultrasonically cleaned grooves of a used Tal Farlow record?
Via Robin Sloan.
Beautiful engravings by Rachel Reckitt, for a never-published edition of The Mill on the Floss.
