On one level, after writing in a space for nearly a quarter-century, you feel like you’re running out of things to say.

On another level, there’s so much happening in the world that things to write about come spewing forth from the media fire hose more quickly than one can form positions on them.

On yet another level, it’s better for my mental health to avoid thinking (which could lead to writing) about most of those myriad things too deeply, because this is, at least for the near future, the worst possible timeline.

And…at the level down below even the weeds, I’m reasonably certain I’m mostly just screaming into the void (because the abyss is for gazing, after all) anyway.

So what does all this mean? I’m not sure. I know I’m writing less in this space and others, and that’s kind of by design, because, well, see above. And, as the algorithm and Peter Thiel are taking it all in anyway to build ever-more-detailed profiles on us all for no doubt nefarious purposes (or, just targeted marketing, which is pretty much the same thing), getting too specific or personal is just doing a favor for the AI overlords.

That said, I had a pretty nice time the other weekend making music and connecting with friends, sharing feelings both superficial and refreshingly deep. It was fun, and exhausting, and I’m glad to have a bit of a break for the next little while. I’ve got a few personal creative projects and collaborations that need addressing, some nature to go get momentarily lost in, and a whole big stack of escapist literature and other media to consume to get away from all this other stuff, which has an unpleasant habit of worming it’s way into my real life enough without my going and seeking it out beyond basic awareness and self-interest.