How to describe the feeling when you see loads of people sharing a meme about how far back can you understand English, which goes all the way back to Old English. People having fun and delighted to realise they can get through Middle English pretty easily, early Middle English somewhat and a bit of Old English. The guy who created the viral post runs his site through Substack and it’s getting a lot of clicks. Nothing wrong with that; he’s working on a PhD and has been successful integrating his work with media sources like NPR.

I guess it’s the grief. Shouting into the void about the terrible cost of losing history, language, literature, and of course social studies that examine how we live, have lived, why things are bad right now. I should be used to it by now. It’s been clear for over a decade that this country does not care about anything but money. Somehow it smarts that it was specifically something obscure/geeky/medieval that I love and loved talking about and always saw people’s eyes glaze over when I did (like most things that really fascinate me) yet suddenly everybody seemed to be ooh look this is interesting. I know I tried to tell you and you didn’t listen.

I’m reading the tome of Mark Fisher’s k-punk writings and remembering why I found his work so energising — and infuriating, and both prescient and obtuse (dude, read some Audre Lorde, Ursula LeGuin, not just dead white dudes) but it reminds me of how I used to write and I think a lot of the indecision, languishing projects, and shelving of things that once interested me is part of working through the endless grief of all that has been lost, is being lost, will be lost. The incredible waste of it all. I’m consumed by the endless fury of seeing those smug stupid cruel faces of the current regime daily and wanting to never see them again unless they are sobbing in the dock before they are sentenced. From my keyboard to the gods’ ears.

The writing at k-punk resonated in the same way Lester Bangs did back in the day — the days of reading music magazines which lasted up until k-punk but not long after, I guess (my sense of time like most people who have lived many decades has started telescoping like many others I assume, those who share those memes about the 80s being 20 years ago). There were always mistakes along the way — listening to anyone who made sense, was business-like, professional etc. The plain fact is I have never written anything that appealed to more than a few weirdos like me. When I was an academic that was the one place where that was enough. I could go to my medieval conferences and my weird pop culture and occult conferences and it went on the CV and it was enough to be acceptable to keep my job.

But of course I don’t have that job anymore; CSR no longer exists except as a random fire sale. I do keep going to conferences to talk about stuff that I love and to see pals (yay, Miss Wendy in Atlanta in April!). I literally stopped writing for a while because what was the point even? But writing is how I think and what I really needed to give up on was publishing. And even that I didn’t give up completely (cough on sale now) but it’s been a process of what do I need to do for money (skating by unemployed but not quite retired but beginning to call myself retired because it sounds better on conference programs (also sweet senior discounts on MTA trains!); versus what I need to do for my sanity which has always been writing to get the noise out of my head.

We don’t have to always know what we’re doing or why. I have a long history of doing without thinking because things must be done and often unravelling my thinking takes a lot of time. Often there’s just no time to stop and think, things have to be done. Working life is full of these, especially the more neoliberalism transfers wealth to the top and labour to the bottom. Fire three people and leave the fourth to cover their duties. Oh, and let’s take away some of your tools as well. Above I said Americans only care about money: most don’t have a choice. It’s a struggle daily to find enough of it. The others who have lots spend all their time wanting more even though they’re idiots everybody hates (except for the inevitable toadies) and pathetic losers who buy entire social media platforms yet remain Johnny-No-Mates.

It’s not much, but let’s feel a wee bit of schadenfreude that that people currently making us miserable have no joy in their lives. Look at their sick sad faces. Pathetic. Yes, I’d rather have their money. Meanwhile I laugh at them because my life boring as it looks to others has plenty of joy. Good friends, family I love, art, music, magic. Weird stuff I research because it’s so fascinating. Comedy that makes me laugh. Films that transport me. Beardo and all of my island Dùn Dèagh and the ACNH Cabal. Flint and Steel!

As the famed line from Deor says, þæs ofereode, þisses swa mæg. That passed away, so may this. The Wheel of Fortune image at the top from Le Roman de la Rose is deeply embedded in the cyclical perception of history. Chaucer found much resonance in Boethius‘ image of Fortuna and her ever turning wheel (a callback to my very first academic presentation). The Consolation of Philosophy is having perspective. Every era ends, even the worst — or as Octavia Butler would tell us,

All that you touch
You Change.
All that you Change
Changes you.
The only lasting truth
Is Change.
God
Is Change.