Average twitter group chat.

Here's a lesson I wish I had learned earlier: If some pissant arguing in obvious bad faith tries to back-seat edit a publication that you've sunk hundreds of hours of your life into, you don't have to try to placate or rationalize with them. You can just tell them to fuck off.

Imagining an indie author who becomes unstuck in time like Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five and starts accusing a bunch of bewildered lit mag editors of taking money from Peter Thiel, because from their perspective 2020 was like four minutes ago.

We used to be a society.

Finally finished proofreading. I still have to format the article for substack, which mostly involves inserting the charts and footnotes, but it should go live tomorrow afternoon or evening, barring a catastrophe.

Type of guy who reads the Thoreau quote about men leading lives of quiet desperation and decides that the solution is to never shut up.

Just reread this after seeing gg's tweet, and even though I think I would do the line breaks differently now and the semicolon usage in the third part is suspect, it's still one of my favorite things I've written.

Something appropriately Nabokovian about how "fondle" is the only English word in this community note litigating whether his childhood abuse influenced Lolita.

I'd like to believe that I've gained wisdom and perspective with age, but I don't think the workings of my own heart have ever been as great a mystery to me as they are now.

I don't fundamentally disagree with the idea that all art is political, but the problem is that the people who insist most loudly upon this point often have no interest in the nuances of either art or politics.