Last year, I saw in my prose that falseness and false formality, I wondered where it had come from...I realized I was attempting to write prose in what was basically iambic pentameter...I wondered, and the immediate answer that occurred to me was, strangely but also obviously, the internet...I thought to myself that I do not, anymore, use the internet to read very deeply.
Now, the internet can feel like a relatively arid version of its wilder self. I return to Instagram, where many nights this year I've revisited the video of the young man being possessed by an ancient burp who cracks his head hard into a garage door.
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