I won't be taking snapshots of the sand mandala. I have dumber things than that to do

I have several blessedly brief fatuous remarks to come. But the most fatuous remark of all cannot wait any longer, despite the obvious priority of more immediate crises.

It is obvious that on one level or another a substantial percentage of the electorate really wants a co-presidency. I am surprised that Barack let himself be outmaneuvered by Hillary's rhetorical gambit instead of riposting with, "Hillary, you are so right. You got the street smarts, I got the imagination and I got the ideas about the future. Now you sign on as my vice president right now and let's go turn things around before these fools mess things up any further."

In reality, it is an open question whether anybody has the ideas about the future, and that is what frightens me.

The future is colliding with the wings of the windblown Angel of History regardless of presidential politics, and as I have often quoted from the world's most famous bad science fiction movie, we are concerned with the future because that is where we will spend the rest of our lives.

the space between: this is neither here nor there again

I’m currently shaping a non-blog project premised on the condition of cultural “in-between-ness” (a regionalized condition of interstitiality that reminds me of how sad I am that “interstitial” has never taken off as a descriptor for people caught between categories, as it has for fiction that violates genres).

( interstices )

I’m using the obfuscatory polysyllables above because right now it would be counterproductive to spell out the plan in words of one syllable. It will happen, if it does, in physical space though it may also have a web component.

But this led me off into one of my Lost World’s Fair discoveries that fits into interstitiality avant le lettre and before, alas, even the possibility.

What became of the now probably late Ernest Tadeshi Tahara?

( o,lost. )