On Failure

There are no days, anymore. Not the horizonless maw of ‘days’. No. Just the hours. Hours. Hours I count down quietly (very quietly). When I am counting down, I don’t always remember if and when I reach zero. But I must do. Because, at some point, I do leave the hours and the days. Not …

We Live In Lysergia

‘We dance round in a ring and suppose, But the Secrets sits in the middle and knows’  Robert Frost, ‘The Secret Sits’ Robert Frost’s ‘The Secret Sits’ expresses the expansive economy characteristic of the very best poetry. For the best poems are those that accomplish much more in their evocation than appears quantitatively possible. The …

A Footnote on Freedom: Camus and Fisher in a Paradise Lost

A response to a colleague’s question ‘What is freedom to you?’ It started as a tweet and ended up becoming a rambling engagement with the deserts of freedom in the work of John Milton, Mark Fisher, and Albert Camus.