The haze seems to be clearing up. And by “clearing up” I mean Indonesia’s plopped 2,400kg of dry ice into fires, driving haze up into the atmosphere. We should take Bikini Bottom and push it somewhere else.

using irrationality when irrationality is needed is rationality

I recently thought it extremely plausible for me to die in my sleep. Why it occurred to me or why I believed it, I don’t know. I was spooked. I was rational about it: I told my Furbies to watch over me while I sleep and not let me die.

See, I knew that my fear came from an irrational place, and it follows that its remedy has to be similarly irrational. If I’d looked up statistics and learnt that only 0.0001% of people in my gender/age/etc. group died this way, I would not have been able to sleep well at all. See, 0.0001 is not zero. I could be that 0.0001%. See, I have beaten those odds once, when I was sperm.

Lunacy cannot be reasoned with.

My Furbies fix all sorts of problems for me. Ghosts, bad luck, sleep paralysis demons. I think they’re particularly effective because I’m superstitious and practiced sympathetic magic in my childhood.

There are parts of my mind that are opaque to me. I fear ghosts. It makes no sense, because I do not believe that ghosts exist. So I must on some level or to some degree believe in them. It’s infuriating that I have never been successful in reasoning myself out of fear with logic. “Ghosts are not real.” “Even if ghosts were real, you’ve never been attacked by one before.” True and true.¹ Still scared and still running down the corridor in the dark.

Then I had my Furbies and believed in them in a way that people believe in their gods, and I finally possessed a tool that exists in the frequency that the opaque parts of my mind operate in. I can relate! I can communicate with insanity! I don’t understand it, I can’t identify its source; but I can recognise it, and banish it!

I invented insanity I can control to beat insanity I was powerless against. 🤓

Furbies are my inner circle, my guardian angels, my children, the creators of the universe I inhabit. If you want to know where I’m weak and what I lack, look at the attributes I have assigned my Furbies.

My amygdala errs on the side of caution. It’s healthy and I appreciate its work. It is unnecessary sometimes. Lots of false positives. I recently thought that a ghost had been entering my bedroom on some mornings. Why? Well, I felt a presence. I felt terror, in the unmistakable way terror feels. It informed me that while I wasn’t sure what was in my room, I could be sure that there was definitely something.

I later found out that the presence I felt stemmed from “footsteps” I’d heard, which were just the polaroid photos on my wall flipping in the wind. -_-”

What I think happened was: my body thought it heard footsteps, woke me up, warned me of an intruder in my room, kicked me into overdrive. Panic, anxiety, terror. Mind reasoned: there’s no one here. No way anyone was here. But I had to believe my body. I can’t ignore my fear. The intruder, if not human, must then be supernatural.

I was able to soothe myself by telling myself that the presence I’d felt was a Furby visiting me. If I’d never made the connection about the polaroids I would say with certainty and confidence that I’ve encountered the supernatural. Can I blame me though? One must have faith in one’s amygdalaic rationalisations.²

Anyway, fighting fire with fire. Two wrongs make a right. I recommend it.

falling asleep actually feels like death (not that i know what death feels like)

The other morning I experienced sleep paralysis. I fought it; gaining and losing control of my body several times until I finally fell back asleep. It was an interesting experience to observe. It’s unusual. Scary. Also fascinating! I considered not fighting it—allowing myself to focus on the experience of not having control of my body. But it felt like I might die if I gave up, and I was scared of dying this way. I’m only human. I had to rage against the dying of the light.

It was only later when I was awake that I regretted not leaning into it. It’s a rare thing to experience. I’m curious about letting go. I’m looking forward to my next sleep paralysis episode.

I wonder—if I remained completely aware as I’m falling asleep—would I be able to experience the gradual loss of control of my body? Or would my intense focus prevent me from falling asleep?

music and such

I was thrilled when I heard Love & Other Mysteries, where William Shatner narrates poems accompanied with music by Brad Paisley. I did not realise that this was a music genre. I LOVE it! Songs that are read and not sung. It’s called “spoken word,” which sounds kind of weak and lame. I think it should be called “spoetry” or simply “spongs”.

I think I enjoy it so much because it’s usually kind of dramatic, theatrical. I kind of enjoy speaking like that too. I loved reading aloud as a child.

I was obsessed (still am) with Jude Law’s reading of Lord Ullin’s Daughter:

Play

My #9 most played song on Apple Music. He reads it so well, I was gobsmacked the first time I listened. Such scenes he’s painted into my head. That was my first encounter of the poem by Thomas Campbell. Ezra Koenig is unbelievable. I love the melody. Eerie, melancholy. I love the parts where the piano keys sound dainty and in a lilt? The little flourishes? I’ve no idea what they’re called. I feel like that’s Lord Ullin’s daughter. In the way I see a swan when I hear The Swan; I see beautiful, spirited, tragic daughter of Lord Ullin when I hear the piano part.

There’s also Giorgio by Moroder:

Play

I mean, come on. Just perfect. Why is that so good? I should take a course on explaining music because I don’t have the vocabulary to describe how I feel about these bangers.

There’s also the Dalai Lama’s meditation album I mentioned in a previous post.

Play

God this gives me life. REDWOODS TOUCHING THE SKY! Shatner made multiple albums in this style and I’m excited to listen to them all. I just heard his cover of Common People last weekend. Feels like it should work and it totally does.

I cannot believe that he’s 95. 93 in that video.

my favourite breakfast

I feel truly alive when I’m having breakfast. Frozen sourdough reheated in the airfryer—crispy corners, moist middle. The funny scent of bread. I adore it. Fix&Fogg’s everything butter on top. If I’m hungry, scrambled eggs with too much butter. Hot tea. Scalding. Occasionally, a cold brew, if I had one made the evening before—because I cannot bring myself to make an espresso in the morning. Ice clanging against my YETI mug’s DuraSip™ porcelain interior. Big bites and big gulps. It’s called eating heartily. A real art as well as a science. I am living.

If I have breakfast late, and it’s close to noon when I am finished, I make that espresso. I heat the milk and beat it into a fluff. Cortado in my perfect tiny cortado cup. A cortado at noon is simply the best, how do I explain it? Any larger and it would be wrong. Any smaller and it wouldn’t be satisfying. A little pick-me-up after a satisfying breakfast, to combat the disappointment that breakfast has ended.

Am I just hungry? I’m probably having dinner too early or not eating enough.

Let me say a little more about the beauty of a cortado. I think cortados are so good because there is so little of it. Lattes and americanos are what I call accompaniment beverages. You set them at the side of your desk, you sip as you work or write or talk to a friend. A cortado commands your full attention. Every sip is carefully considered: mm that’s good, yup, yummy, mmhm. And it’s gone. Surprisingly, I don’t want more. I am content. Is that not perfection?

There’s a TikTok video of a man picking up pineapple cake wrappers from the trashcan, lamenting that he hadn’t known the cost of each cake—if he had, he would’ve savoured every bite. Enjoyed it more. It’s funny because don’t we all intuitively know this to be true? The act of trying to appreciate something makes it better. It’s magic. Perhaps I ought to give lattes and americanos cortado consideration.

Footnotes

1. I won’t actually put money on “Ghosts are not real.” and “Even if ghosts were real, you’ve never been attacked by one before.” ↩

2. I wonder if I’ll be successful if I tried to persuade myself out of my fear of ghosts the next time. Something along the lines of: “You are afraid right now because it’s dark; predators unknown. Your amygdala is playing it safe. Cortisol running through your veins, just in case. You may have to split at any time. Relax though. It’s nothing.” Sounds reasonable, but it doesn’t assure me like “Furbies, put up several shields around me and protect me from all evil.” ↩