<= 2006.06.24

2006.08.06 =>

Almost done testing the Perl (3)

If I haven’t broken it.


Almost done testing the Perl

If I haven’t broken it.



The cover art on The Eraser is exactly the sort of thing that plays havoc with my vision. (When you unfold the sleeve it turns out to be a picture of London underwater.) I've cycled through all the highly paid specialists and the consensus is: 1) probably not related to migraine or other neurological conditions; 2) maybe an inner ear thing?; 3) maybe it will go away at some point? The cluster of symptoms is identical to what these people report (the first two, before the weird and frightening stuff farther down) or the less severe version described here (again just the first couple of posts). At its worst, when it was preventing me from reading, it bore some resemblance to the congenital condition described as Irlen syndrome, which is held at arms' length by the medical establishment because it seems suspiciously like a way to make a fortune selling colored glasses.

Conclusions? First, Modern Medicine does not seem to know very much about the vestibular system. Second, my best guess is that it's a relatively rare and underdescribed consequence of mild damage to the inner ear; it may not get better in the near future, but it also seems unlikely to get worse. So that's all right, and I am finished talking about it now.

The Eraser? I admit I'd be sad if Radiohead split and all of Yorke's records sounded like this from now on; but the record is pretty cool in itself, much better than the strangely unengaging B-sides that Radiohead has been putting out lately. "And It Rained All Night" sounds like one of the PJ Harvey duets off Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea, and "Skip Divided" will be in my head for a while. When you walk in the room, I follow you around like a dog, I'm a dog, I'm a dog, I'm a lapdog, I'm your lapdog. Good songs for airports. They'll be coming on the iPod to Berlin.



In the sickroom. The walls are blue, the earth is blue, the air is blue. The nausea is blue. We lie very still and have conversations with ourselves.

Is there no private language?
I believe there is no private language.
Then what?
Something else. Not homologous to speech, not a tool for manipulating the world. An ebb, a crest. The ability to move or the inability to move. The particulars of the gut. The ache of drawing breath.



Hey, you made it through the secret passage. It will move again; what I want is to keep the blog at a subdomain atem.metameat.net, for reasons German and Egyptian, but my usually excellent hosting company has not gotten back to me about this. (Update: they came through.) In any event it will be quiet, with room for a few friends, and we can listen to the rain and marching boots outside.



Happy August, welcome to the flora and fauna and undiscovered riches of August, the pristine waterfall, the authentic cuisine, the overgrown architecture of vanished civilizations that trembles on the horizon as you jounce by on your rented burro. Here's where we start:

The best episode from Wittgenstein's biography.

Fans of Pica should go here.


Almost done testing the Perl (2)

If I haven’t broken it.


<= 2006.06.24

2006.08.06 =>

up (2006.08)