I had an idea yesterday which I’m trying out here: writing to you, in the future. I would prefer to write to you in the past if I knew the emails would be delivered, but it seems like Google Mail only have the option at the moment to schedule pieces of writing into the future, so that’s what I’ll use for now. Sometimes, I write into the past and hope that I reach you there too. We’ll have to see how that works out.
It’s the 1st of June today, Steve. In a few days time it will be your birthday again. A birthday is perhaps no different to any other day, but it serves as a marker of sorts regardless, and this year it feels as if this birthday is marking a kind of decline, or decay, or degeneration, a place from which I am trapped and suffering with no clear exit marked out in any way. Or rather: marked out in many ways, none of which I’m willing to take.
I’ve been thinking a lot about our three instincts