The enigmatic structure of melancholy resists reflection. It persists, mutates, spreads; cancerous — alien to us. We are not meant for melancholy, but melancholy is meant for us.

Winter has had a bracing effect on me; or it’s starting to — I want to change; I don’t like the person I’m becoming. A techneurotic — that’s my word for it. Freud diagnosed neurosis as a result of bourgeoisie repression, but we don’t really have a terminology for the cognitive and emotional imbalance produced by a way of life fully mediated by digital media.

I need to write more letters — by hand. Need to write by hand more in general. Even what I write down on the internet and for the internet has to begin on a physical page. That is my vow. My opposition to techneurosis can’t be strictly theoretical, it needs a practical component.