Digest, 5/15/2022: It Went Pop
the forty-ninth digest post
The left shoulder tendon I have tried and failed to fix since last August appears to have ruptured in my sleep recently. Intense pain and I now can’t lift it more than about fifteen degrees off of my body. I’m on painkillers and in a sling for now, back to the orthopedist on Friday. Presumably there’s another MRI and surgery in my future. Spirits are high though. At the moment the trick is getting into a writing position I can work with.
This Week’s Posts
Monday, May 9th - Just Stop Apologizing
Private apologies are good. Public apologies are not.
Responding to criticism of my UnHerd review.
Wednesday, May 11th - Safetyism is the Water in Which We Swim
The embrace of psychic safety above all else is a real change to political culture, and like everything in politics is fair game for criticism.
Thursday, May 12th - Comments Are Off For One Month
just so much sadness
Fridaye, May 13th - When I Was Young and Free (subscriber only)
Freedom over safety, man, freedom over safety.
From the Archives
Song of the Week
Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman, 1855
My first love, in poetry. It inspired me to read other poets, and eventually, though it would have been sacrilege to me to say so at one time, to leave Whitman a little bit behind. Not that I'll ever leave this book, or could. It's in my DNA now. But I have come to understand that I came to Whitman exactly when I needed him most, and as much as I might want to, I can't go back to being the young man I was. I used to get what I would call my Whitman bubble,where the acceleration and energy of his work would fill me up, and you feel a bit like you want to burst.... Made me an English guy, and remains my constant defense against myself, when I feel like a poseur or that I'm becoming an asshole in being too into grad school; though I'm not in lit anymore, I think back to hiding Leaves of Grass in my algebra book and I laugh and say to myself, "I'll be a parody, then!
Comment of the Week
You are so right, and I am grateful for your honesty. I flew in from the Middle East to put my closest friend in the hospital when her bipolar mental disorder rendered her incoherent and unable to live by herself. I sat her her room as she wept for hours in her misery. It took years for her to recover and she was never the same. - Diane Bailey
That’s it. I hope to be better next week.