Now. This.
A moment. Nothing more. 10 months, 121 articles. Weird. Hours passed. Spent. Reaching out toward a point in time. A moment. Of insignificance. And yet. Time to think. Hours, months. Time. To think. Future lies in the thoughts. The thoughts are now. In the moment. Inside. Not getting out. Not extending. The moment embraced by connections, stretching out the moment. To hold the past. Past connections. The shadow of them, the memory. Strong. Looking out. Seeing nothing. No bridge. No future. Only the moment. Until the next arrives. If. It does.
Now. This.
If.
I have become more and more depressed over the lack of presence of people in places where I try to communicate, especially Notes, which is a farce, as I see it, but also to some extent the article publishing part of Substack.
Realizing how much time and energy I spend on not only writing the articles, but also checking and waiting for some response, and feeling how much it overall contributes to my current depression, I have decided to not post and check all the time – in fact, I am going to have a break.
Optimally, I'll stay away until I again feel good about using the system, which, as I see it now, would imply that some things will have changed with Notes, at least, but also some other things that I must find out about. Not sure right now what would make me feel less depressed about the thing.
So, don't expect a lot from me for a while. Have fun with what you do and with life!