by Carson Reynolds
My life now is hardly recognizable. So much has changed simultaneously that it isn’t possible for my phenomenological self to keep up with the self I am on the verge of becoming each moment. Where and how to coalesce? This is the noise floor of my brain’s innumerable spikes.
Since I last made a serious go at documenting my daily life, I have climbed Mount Fuji at sunrise, moved to a new home in Hakusan, circumnavigated the planet (from Tokyo to San Francisco, D.C., Munich, Naples, Munich, Berlin, Frankfurt, and back to Tokyo), started a new position as a Project Assistant Professor, and introduced Yoshiko to my family in New Mexico over Christmas.
Over the past few months I read Nitobe’s Bushido, Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss, Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, and McEwan’s Saturday. I have also started (but am various lengths of time from finishing) Hamsun’s Hunger, Abelson and Sussman’s Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs, and Tolstoy’s War and Peace. The last of these I have been reading an email at a time using Daily Lit which in practice means one postage-stamp-screen at a time on the subway. It should only take a few years that way.